Collections
by lollercakes
Summary: A simple story can be told so many ways. A collection of ficlets from the kolms Girl on Fire ficathon. No pairing/character is safe - generally M ratings.
1. It isn't a Trick

_Prompt by: lillian_raven_

_Katniss/Peeta, it isn't a trick she is really pregnant_

* * *

><p>I feel Haymitch's arm pressing into my windpipe. I can't help but be surprised at the speed with which he moved as we stepped off the elevator onto our floor in the Training Center.<p>

"Is it true?" He's not looking at me when he asks, his menacing eyes focused on Katniss as she stands a foot away, her hands on her stomach and her face barely controlled. I can hear Effie in the close distance as she rambles on in a high pitch. We've just had our Quarter Quell interviews.

It's getting harder to breathe now.

My eyes flick towards Katniss who quickly nods her head. Haymitch's arm releases me and he steps back, the blood leaving his face. I stumble against the wall and Katniss grabs my arm, steadying me as her eyes remain locked on our Mentor. He's standing shell shocked, his eyes focused on her hand as it never leaves her belly.

"You have no idea what you've done." His words hang in the air as he disappears down the hallway.

* * *

><p>It hadn't been expected, the way we'd fallen back into sleeping next to each other as our families slept down the hall. She'd found me one night after a hard training session – one that I'd imposed on the three of us – and had asked if she could stay with me.<p>

I couldn't turn her away. I'd promised her always.

It was like the Tour. We held close and breathed each other in, our bodies pressed together, our hands clinging. We were almost like children, terrified of what was coming for us though neither would admit it out loud.

We didn't need to say it out loud. We both knew that one of us, both of us, would likely not be coming home.

* * *

><p>It happened in the afternoon, the heat of the sun having forced us out of training and into the shelter of my home. Haymitch had returned to his, determined to hide himself away in the bottom of a bottle.<p>

The house was quiet with my brothers at school or at the bakery with my mother and father.

And she knew it when she kissed me. We were alone and right now, right now was all we needed.

We hadn't bothered to go far, stumbling our way to the couch in my front room and collapsing upon it. I didn't call into question _why now_ or what was going through her head. I should have, there's no doubt in my mind about that, but I didn't.

With my body pressed into hers I pulled back from the frenzy. My lips peppered kisses across her forehead, her cheekbones; my lips found her earlobe and the dip where her neck and shoulder connected. Her hands found my spine and traced it upwards, under my shirt and along my skin. I pressed my hand to the center of her chest and felt her heart beat.

It beat quicker for me.

"Katniss," I felt her breath in my hair as I nuzzled my face against her, needing to be closer. It was a flurry of movement as clothes were discarded and bodies were aligned. I'd never seen her naked before. I tried to slow it down, to take it all in, but she wouldn't have any of it.

It was moments before I felt myself moving in her, her body tight and hot and wet and around me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. There was pain on her face as she lowered herself further onto me. I wanted to lift her up, stop her from hurting, keep her safe. But that was instinct and I knew this had to happen.

She held tight to me then, her discomfort expressed into my shoulder as I struggled to hold on for just a little longer. I felt her muscles clench around me and I almost let go, right there.

"Katniss," The words were strangled from my lips. She wasn't moving anymore, the hard part over and done with she had given up. I pull her back to look into her eyes, there were tears there, rimming her lids. I knew, deep inside, that it's not pain that's making her cry. She's terrified for every other reason.

I remove her from my lap and lay her on her back across the cushions. I trace my hands across her chest, settling on her sides as I lay myself over her. The moment apart has calmed me and I'm able to hold it together as I push into her again.

The angle, the mood, the feeling – it's all different this time. We move together slowly, our hands grasping tightly as my pace increases. I slip my fingers down to where we connect and find her center. It's pleasure that spreads on her face now, no longer tangled with fear.

When I let go, she doesn't follow. Not until I slip out and refocus my hands on her, pulling her over the edge with me.

We lay entwined for too long, our sweat coated bodies cooled in the breeze drifting through the windows.

* * *

><p>The idea of bringing a child into the world hadn't even crossed my mind that day. How could it? I was so focused on Katniss and the Games that it wasn't even something <em>real<em>.

Until it became real, at least.

The training we'd done in the District had slowed down, almost to a stop on account of her feeling ill. I'd written it off as nerves as we quickly approached the day of the Reaping.

I'd figured it out on the train to the Capitol as I held her hair while she expelled breakfast into the porcelain toilet.

"What do we do now?" I'd asked as she tipped the glass of water to her lips. She looked at me quizzically for a moment too long. She hadn't recognized the signs. My heart broke for her. For us.

"What do you mean? You win and you go home. That's the plan, isn't it?" I lean back against the closed bathroom door and sink to the ground, my arms wrapping around my legs as I watch her carefully. My chest is tight.

"Katniss, do you have any idea what's happening to you right now?"

"I'm being led to the slaughter, aren't I?" There's a deadly serious smile on her face, a blithe comment from the teachings of Haymitch.

"You're pregnant, Katniss. You've been sick, skipping out on training, feeling off balance when you do show up..." My voice trails off as the look of incredulity fills her features. She's quick to her feet and instantly I'm on the defense as she kicks at my heels and screams.

"No! I'm not! It's not real if I don't _want_ it to be real." She'd known. She just hadn't admitted it to herself. I wrap my arms around her tightly as she pounds her fists into my chest. It calms her and soon I'm holding her up as her words turn incoherent. She didn't want this.

I didn't want this – not now anyways.

When we lay together that night in my bed, I can't help but rest my hand over her stomach. I want so badly for this but it isn't right. I pull her tighter against me, crushing her close as if to mold us together.

"You'll come home with a piece of me." I whisper it into her hair. I know she's asleep. It's the only time I can admit that I want this for her. That I'll save them both.

* * *

><p>We don't talk about it again. She refuses to tell anyone but I know people know. Portia looks at me different. Cinna can't look me in the eye.<p>

They know.

I start working on my plan to bring her home. I keep quiet and put my plans into motion.

I tell all of Panem first.

I'm desperate to bring her home. To save her. To save them.

It's only when we're back up on our Training Center floor that it all seems much more dangerous to have announced it.

But I'm grasping at straws with each new target. I can only stand in front of one bullet. I'm banking on the people of Panem to stand in front of the others.

She needs to come home. They need to come home.

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, each chapter will be a different prompt. Hopefully it works and isn't a slaughterhouse.<em>

_Sidenote! lillian_raven has so kindly translated this story into German - which can be found at s/7977240/1/Sammlung or /s/4f7835ae0001120906711940_

_And we're possibly working on a sequel to this, so yay!  
><em>


	2. What We Live For

_peeta/katniss, this is what we live for / kissing on the dance floor_

_nitro26_

* * *

><p>This moment in time was never supposed to happen for them. I'd be the first to admit that even I had doubted the flames of the Rebellion. These two weren't supposed to make it.<p>

The odds were never in their favour.

But fuck the odds.

District 12 is celebrating. The rebuilt Square is filled with people, travelling the stalls and enjoying the festivities. I'm perched, bottle in hand, at a table off to the side of the Justice Building's stage that somehow survived the bombings.

There's a band playing, something loud and festive. The fiddle and drum set rolling in my mind as I look out across the crowds of people. Smiling, laughing. So unfamiliar in District 12 – at least unfamiliar before the war.

It's there that I seem them, surrounded by the folks doing a jig and circling on the dance floor. Their arms are around each other, pulling each other closer and holding on for dear life. Slow dancing in a swarm of movement. Completely oblivious.

I watch for a moment longer as my Mockingjay lifts up to press her lips against his.

This moment in time is what we all, as humans, live for. For the star-crossed lover who stays around, waiting for his match to figure it out. For the girl who burns so brightly she almost burns out. For the pair who has everything stacked against them. For the pair who loses almost everything but each other.

They were never supposed to have this.

The odds were never in their favour.

But fuck the odds.


	3. Goodbye Twist

_**Katniss/Peeta,** It was quick and I hope that it was painless. I still remember the day I said goodbye to the boy with the bread._

_buriedmypride_

* * *

><p>The time in District 13 is frazzled in my head. I'm not sure when the days officially turn over into new days, or whether I'm supposed to be somewhere else, or if I should be doing something. I don't keep track of my schedule.<p>

I spend my time with Finnick. We hold it together, just barely, as we wait for Peeta and Annie to be returned to us. There's a new bond here that can never be broken. A friendship that I trust to save my life.

The day, the exact moment, that we find out they're back it's like a cold tub of water being dumped down my spine. I'm not sure what to expect, but I go anyways. I search him out despite Haymitch's warnings and concerns.

I know he needs me.

There's a flurry of activity on the day that I go. I've left Finnick with Annie down the hall, always close by.

When I stand at the door, I can't help but stress my fingers against one another. My mind races with the worries that have plagued me since he was taken. I step into the room.

His fingers around my throat are what is burned into my memory. I barely recall the screams of the nurses throughout the halls, or the doctors struggling to pull him loose. It's no use. I'm letting him kill me. His eyes are no longer the soft ones I once recognized.

When it stops, when I can finally breathe again even though I'm laying on the floor and everything hurts, I look over and see Peeta's twisted body. His head is at an awkward angle and Finnick is standing over him, his chest heaving and his face twisted in pain and sorrow.

I look between the two as my mind clicks it all into place. Panic fills me and I can't crawl to Peeta's side fast enough. I'm not sure if the screams of denial are in my head or coming from my lips.

His neck is broken and his eyes are empty of life. I feel empty of life. My vision wavers as my breathing becomes more constricted, the sobs ripping from my chest as I struggle to breathe over my damaged windpipe.

He's gone. He came back to me and now he's gone.

I only have a moment to caress his cheek and press a kiss to his forehead before I'm forcefully removed from the room.

There's a needle in my arm before I'm in the hallway and I'm unconscious again.

That was the only goodbye I was allowed to grant my Boy with the Bread.


	4. Goodbye Dogs

_Katniss/Peeta, It was quick and I hope that it was painless. I still remember the day I said goodbye to the boy with the bread._

_Buriedmypride_

* * *

><p>I can hear him on the steps, two by two, his heavy frame crashing throughout my house. I can't call out to him, I'm too tired now.<p>

I'd been in the forest, stalking a deer. But I hadn't been the only one. The pack of wild dogs had caught me by surprise and taken me down. They'd gotten a fair bit of me, it seems. I'd struggled home and up the stairs to my bath, determined to wipe myself clean and examine my wounds in more detail.

I'd made it to the tub and run the water, the adrenaline fueling my body as I removed my torn clothing. I didn't look in the mirror – I knew it was bad. I could feel parts of my flesh hanging off of me. My already scarred skin was tattered and torn again.

The dogs had jerked me around like a rag doll.

He must have been delivering his daily loaf of bread. He must have seen the blood in the kitchen.

"Katniss!" His voice was strangled with fear as he called out to me. There was a crash in the kitchen below. My bath water was bloody and I was disgusted with myself. I couldn't reach to drain the tub of the filthy liquid.

Some foolish part of me, when I'd come to clean myself here, had locked the door. He was banging on it now, having followed the trail of blood I likely left everywhere.

"Katniss, open the door. Please," There was panic in his voice now. He jiggled the lock. I wished it to open. I hoped he wouldn't see me like this. I was dizzy. I was tired. "Please," He was pleading with me now, as though I could change this. I struggled to say something – anything, but it came out as a gurgle.

He was kicking at the door now. I could see the wood shattering out of the corner of my eye. When it finally flew open, smacking against the wall, I tried not to let the panic in me rise.

I knew I wasn't going to make it. I knew it in that moment as his knees collapsed at the side of the tub and his hands fluttered over my face.

"Shit, Katniss, shit, I don't... Fuck..." He reached and pulled the plug on the tub, the bloody water draining away and exposing my body to him. I was missing pieces, I think. I heard him call out for help; saw the tears in his eyes as he feathered his fingers over my brow.

He didn't stop calling for help. Not once. Haymitch must have heard him from somewhere beyond my walls as he soon stood in the doorway.

There was no stopping what was coming for me now. My skin was too pale as I lifted my arm, fought to lift it, to caress Peeta's cheek. He was crying heavily now, his words jumbled and confused.

"Peeta," I was barely audible and it only made his body shake harder. I saw Haymitch move forward and grip my boy's shoulder. His face was pale as he looked down at me.

I didn't feel like I was in this body anymore. It was cold. I closed my eyes to rest, felt his hand in my hair. It wasn't quick, but it was painless. It's how I said goodbye to the Boy with the Bread.


	5. Memory Play

_katniss/peeta, it's the way your shoulders shake and what they're shaking for_

_loveleeefic_

* * *

><p>I've never seen you shake with a bow in hand. You're aiming oddly, the point of the arrow a bit too far right.<p>

It's wrong. You've got it wrong. You're going to miss. You're going to let him live.

_You're going to kill us all. _

But you didn't miss – she was your target all along. Not him – you fool. _You fucking mutt. _

No. No, she wanted more Games. You didn't miss.

She's tumbling now over the edge – you're watching her go, a slick smile on your face. I bet there are fangs behind those lips. I bet.

You're watching him drown now – drown in laughter and bile and blood. You're still smiling.

No, not anymore. They're taking you away. Taking you from me. I see what you're doing, leaning down, grabbing for the Nightlock pill.

You can't have it. No. No. _No. _

You can't leave me.

They've got you by the arms now. You're screaming for _him_. I don't blame you. You've drawn blood on my hand, your teeth as sharp as razors. But I've got the pill. I've got it right here.

I think they're going to kill you now – relieve me of your curse.

_No. _

I'm chasing them now. There's so much panic, they don't even notice I'm following them. Following you. They can't have you. You can't go. I need you.

I followed you until you were sedated and pulled behind thick doors. I tried to claw my way through. I did. But then there were arms pulling me back, a beard rubbing against my scarred skin. I tried to fight him off. I tried.

That's all I remember before they locked you up.

Real or not real?


	6. Run, Walk, Crawl

_haymitch & katniss, when you can't run, you walk. and when you can't walk, you crawl. and when you can't crawl, you find someone to carry you_

_clouberding_

* * *

><p>She's dead. <em>Dead dead dead<em>.

I shouldn't feel this way. I shouldn't be rejoicing in the fact that I've killed someone. But she deserved it – she wanted more of the Games. I aimed for her heart. I aimed for instant death. She fell from the balcony instead.

I guess it was the dramatics she'd always wanted.

* * *

><p>The trial was unexpected. I'd thought they would kill me instantly. I'd tried to kill myself, save them the trouble, but Peeta had stolen my chance and my pill. They'd locked me down in the dungeons of their old prison, solid cement walls and glass cells.<p>

They'd trapped me here in the dark with its recycled air and claustrophobic restrictions. It was a torture all its own.

Then the guards had come for me. They'd made me their doll and their plaything. I hadn't screamed. Not once.

* * *

><p>I lost track of time. There was no sun here to set my clock, no breakfast-lunch-dinner routine to keep time. There was nothing but irregular meals with vacant Avox servants and guards who came for their own pleasure and my pain.<p>

This prison was worse than death.

I stopped eating one day. The meals began to pile up. The dishes grew with mold. The cell filled with a rancid air.

That was the day I stopped bothering to get up from my bed. The day I decided to just _stop_.

* * *

><p>There were doctors that came. Doctors that went, too. The guards were less frequent now. More <em>occasionally<em> than _regularly_. Everyone wanted in my head. To see what I was thinking. To see if I'd meant to kill her.

I had. But I didn't say a word.

* * *

><p>I still didn't eat. I didn't move. When I tried, my muscles collapsed upon themselves. They wrote about that in their notepads.<p>

They'd tried to tube me. To input food into me. Keep me alive so they could kill me in the end.

My bones were jutting too much out of my skin now. The guards didn't even bother with me. I was disgusting and mute and stuck.

* * *

><p>There was a clink in the door. A release mechanism sounding behind me. I used my stores of strength to push over, to sit up, to look into the eyes of the guard who stood at my open cell door.<p>

"You're free, Everdeen."

It was an adrenaline rush that had me on my feet, pulled me into the hallway. I looked both ways. One end was dead cement and more cells. The other – at the other end he stood. I felt my heart thudding in my chest.

A burn filled my lungs as I tried to run. I tried to walk. I fell to my knees and pleaded with hollow breaths. I was dizzy and my boney knees were frail as they cracked on the cement. I couldn't move. I was stuck here, forever, on this cement floor.

* * *

><p>It was bright and harsh and my eyes burned. My body shook in the cool breeze that surrounded me.<p>

There was a cool breeze.

I was out. I was moving. Fast.

But I wasn't moving at all. Someone was carrying me, arms clutching me close, breath heaving below me.

I turned my bleary eyes to look up, up into the sky and the sun and to Haymitch's bearded face.

"Come to finish me off, sweetheart?" It was all I could think to ask with the words I could barely form. My voice was rough from disuse. I felt his pace slowdown and falter as he looked down for the first time.

There was a sadness to him now. He didn't smell of liquor and cheap cologne. He was scraggly looking and thinner than before.

"Taking you home, Mockingjay."


	7. Oh Brother

_peeta's brother (after peeta gets reaped), i love you. i love you, o brother of mine_

_thursdayspark_

* * *

><p>Though the girl is Reaped, now comes the true test. I pray that there won't be two Volunteers this year. Hope that he's quiet, oh brother of mine. Wish him to say goodbye to his childhood love.<p>

The name is drawn. There's no need for another panicked cry. No hands lifted for him, no guttural shout from my lips.

I'm no Katniss Everdeen. I'm not like the girl my brother so loves. I'm not a Volunteer. Never to be a Tribute. He would never forgive me anyways, for taking his place, for killing her, for coming home. He would save her, I was sure of it.

And in saving her, he would die.

My brother, the baker, cake-maker. Innocent and young.

He's on the stage now, oh brother of mine. I see him hold himself together, keep his crocodile tears contained. No longer the little boy with curls so bright.

It's terse and fraught with pain, this goodbye. Cold and bitter, like mother can be.

"She's a survivor, that one." It's true but it need not be said.

"Use your words, your wit," I remind. He nods though I doubt he'll use them for his own life. Only hers.

He's a noble git, oh brother of mine. Off like a lamb to the slaughter. Had it been another, it would have been him still, falling on their sword.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry for the double alert! Something went wrong and 7 never went live.<p> 


	8. Whiskey Whisper

_katniss/haymitch, but there's somethin' behind the whiskey whispers you speak that rocks me to sleep_

_gigglemonster_

* * *

><p>There's a difference between <em>need<em> and _want_. _Need_ is something feral, animal. _Want_is something constructed, developed.

This is a _need_. We both can't fill the _want_. So we drink and drown and become fulfilments of each other's needs.

The first time it happens I'm not sure why it does. I'm sleeping (if that's what it's called for a Victor who never quite sleeps anymore) in my chair by the fireplace. Her body is tucked onto my lap, head pressed into my shoulder, our bottles of respective liquors nestled in my lap.

I'm the first to wake when her breath stutters against my neck and pulls me out of a nightmare. It's hot and wet and it sends shivers down my body. It's not right, the way this is. I shift myself, putting distance between us, but she presses in closer.

"Katniss," It's almost a slur, the whiskey from earlier still clouding my mind. Her returning groan is loud in the quiet of the room. I can hear her heartbeat, slow and rhythmic, against mine. Her body shifts again and I know she's trapped in her own dream world.

I toss the bottles onto the floor, removing them from any rude awakening damage that will likely come from my actions. My hands grip her shoulders tightly and sit her up. Her head lolls to the side, drunken and heavy.

"Katniss," I repeat. Her eyes flicker open, barely, and we stare at each other in the silence. Her breath smells like white liquor. Mine smells of whiskey.

"Haymitch?" It's like a question she poses. She's straddling my lap now, her legs bordering mine as I hold her upright in front of me. Her nightshirt has ridden up on her thighs and I'm forced to again try to dislodge her from me without success. Her frail arms enclose me and my heart stops when she presses her lips against mine.

I turn my head. Hers follows. The contact doesn't end.

"Sweetheart, this isn't what you want," The words hang in the air when I'm finally able to take a breath. She leans back, her hands on my knees, and the haze gone from her eyes. She's here now, all in.

"This isn't about _want_, Haymitch." She's back, pressing against me, her hands removing my shirt and running along my ribs. I'm reluctant to give in, to return any of her ministrations, before her teeth are biting my lip and forcing my mouth open with a gasp.

I feel her hands on the belt of my pants before I can recognize the snap of a button and the slide of a zip. Her fingers glide against me and I can't help my resulting groan.

My hands are on her face, pulling her back so I can look for any sign that she isn't Katniss right now. She scowls at me in return.

"Stop looking at me like that," her hands are pulling me free from my pants, "This is what I _need_." Her fingers are sure as she strokes me. I give up. My hips thrust into her grip and I press into her kiss. There's a smile on her lips now and I can taste the alcohol on her breath.

It isn't long until her underwear is pulled aside and we're pushing and pulling at each other, our movements harsh and unforgiving as we both give in to our needs. There's a violence in it when she bites into my neck, her body tensing around mine. I'm granted release within her, my fingers pinching into her waist.

We sit, exhausted, spent, on the chair as our breathing steadies out. I feel myself slip out of her and the rush of the moment is gone. Her body relaxes fully against me and I know she's back asleep.

It wasn't a want. It was a _need_.

It's only bad when the _need_ means _more_.


	9. Skinny Love

_Johanna/Gale_

_Come on skinny love, just last the year_  
><em>Pour a little salt, we were never here<em>

_poppypickle_

* * *

><p>How did we get here, you in my bed, in my sheets, in my heart? All bones and liquor and fierce skinny love. We lay here so quiet with your chest rising with each breath, your air filling my lungs. Let me breathe you in.<p>

I'd asked you to be patient but you'd come bursting in like a gust of wind. Into my mind, into my life. There were no brakes – all fast and furious. There was no shutting you out, no blocking the doors. When you were in, you stayed like a bad disease with no cure.

I'd asked you to be fine but you reminded me that Victor's are never 'fine'. It is wicked, what we have. Together we are brutal. We are violent. We thrive. Like venom we speak, but our shells remain tough. Neither of us will ever be 'fine' with the bodies and the deaths behind our eyes.

You'd asked me to be balanced and we'd tried, oh how we'd tried. Our fists and liquor dug us holes at different depths. So deep that the only way out was towards one another.

Tonight you asked me to be kind. But in the morning we both know, you'll need a different _'kind'_.

Just tell me my love ain't wasted, skinny love of mine.


	10. Keep Calm

_**Effie**, "keep calm and carry on"_

_supersyncspaz7_

* * *

><p>I tried, just tried, to convince myself.<p>

It was going to be just fine. Just fine indeed.

They'd never know. They'd never check. It's just a small spot. So small.

I really would like to keep all my toes.

I can't control them – like little pests that have to be watched. I'm not their mother nor their caretaker. I cannot be held responsible. They have a mentor for that.

Oh my, now _that_ is the real problem. But it's not _my_ problem.

My only requirement is time. Keep time. Always on time. That's what I do here. That's why I'm here. It's what they taught me to do.

It's a bright, bright, bright day out there and we're going to _grab it_. I'll show them.

It's going to be just fine.

Oh, it will.

It's only mahogany. Only.


	11. Just Like You

_**katniss/haymitch**, am i just like you?_

_Gigglemonster_

* * *

><p>"Would it be so bad?"<p>

"To be just like you? Yes." Her answer is cold and short. I can't blame her. I've been nothing but rot to her since the day I became her Mentor.

But in every action, in every choice, she was just like me.

We sit at the table in my kitchen as I suck back another snifter of liquor. I don't know why she's here tonight, in my house, bothering to waste her time. But she is. And I don't turn her out. We're both masochists like this.

Her arms are crossed tightly across her chest when I look her over. She's fidgeting with her braid and there's a tension in her brow that needs to be smoothed out. There's something under her skin, eating away at her resolve.

"Am I going to be alone forever, just like you?" It's a surprising question. I wouldn't consider myself alone, per se. More like, reluctant to deal with other people's shit.

"I thought you didn't want to be like me, sweetheart?" Her eyes snap to mine and there's a fury in her gaze.

"I don't."

"Then why are you sitting here with me instead of him? This-" I flick my fingers between us, "This is what I do. It's not what you do." She scowls down at the table as I fill the glass again, sliding it over towards her. She grips it in her hand, swirling the liquid around.

"Am I just like you?" She asks, taking a sip as I watch as her face contort at the taste.

"Keep it up and you will be." I watch as her face falls and she lifts the glass again to her lips. She empties it and thrusts it back towards me. Her eyes never leave mine as I catch it. "Go home, Katniss."


	12. Those Who Remain

_The mentors || empty chairs at empty tables_

_heliconian_julz_

* * *

><p>Five minutes in. Three of us get to leave. Get to escape this bloodbath and the white washed walls that surround us.<p>

The room is a circle, much like the Gamemakers suite. We are each assigned high-backed chairs that surround the three dimensional model of the Arena. Our team tables are equipped with pull out screens and a panel of options to send relief.

It's in this room that we'll guide our Tributes to victory. Or, more likely, to death.

Our flips and dials are of little use to us today, on Day 1, as the deaths click by without much fight. There's no parachutes being dispatched, no messages being transmitted. We just sit. And watch. And hope.

* * *

><p>Day 2. Another one is set free.<p>

There's little conversation today – more subtle glances and notes about the game being played out before us.

It's as much strategy up here as it is down there.

* * *

><p>It's Day 5. Another one of us has been relieved. Today the real games start.<p>

We're sent out into the city, our partners (if we have any) maintain watch. It's time to talk, to get money, to press for Sponsors.

The first few days are always quiet for Sponsors – it's best to let the money roll in on its own. But now it's time to work. They've had a nibble, now we reel them in.

* * *

><p>Two more of us get to leave. It's Day 8. We're down to 1, 2, 5, 11 and 12. There's action now. Our seats are rarely empty. The Sponsors come to us. They watch with us, push us, convince us.<p>

The price of saving a life has multiplied tenfold.

We send parachutes almost daily now. Food, equipment, salve – anything to keep our Tributes alive.

The mood is heavier, but it's almost a camaraderie that fills the air. We offer tips to each other, ideas.

We don't leave our seats.

* * *

><p>Day 9. Another one bites the dust.<p>

* * *

><p>We're almost there. We can feel it in our blood.<p>

The rules have changed this year. Two can win from the same District. It's unheard of. It changes everything.

There's a tension in the air as four of us remain. You can see that some of us are barely sleeping – our eyes are puffy, faces drawn. We're so close to bringing them home.

We've been told there's going to be a Feast. It'll call us all together. This gift is on the Capitol – they don't need our funds.

We don't work together anymore. There's too much at stake.

* * *

><p>So close. It's been two days since we got down to two of us. Two days.<p>

And now it's here. We watch as the muttations are put into their mix. We see their eyes, clear as day, on everyone else's Tributes. It's not surprising the lengths that they go to to put our Tributes on the edge.

We don't bother sending any parachutes today – it'll be over soon. The Sponsors don't bother coming around either – they have their bets to check in on, their own games to follow.

We don't leave our seats. Not once. We watch. We wait.

* * *

><p>Goddamnit. Another year of bodybags.<p> 


	13. Think It Over

_Katniss/Haymitch (with Haymitch in 13 when they all thought she was dead) precious and fragile things, need special handling, my god what have we done to you?_

_goth_sweeting_

* * *

><p>"I've gotta go Jo, try not to drown in the Morphling." Her grin is wide as she presses down on the button on her bed.<p>

My communicuff has been blinking for too long, unattended across the room. I don't like to wear it, don't envy the tightness of it or the way it makes me feel tethered. I keep it around only because I know they're on mission and I need to be available.

Need to keep an eye on things.

I make my way back to the briefing room without rush. They always seem to be calling me for no goddamn reason. Maybe they just like to see me run.

The hallways are deadly quiet as I approach – a rare happening in the burrows of 13. I feel my heart pickup a beat. Something feels off.

Something _is_ off.

When I step into the room, it's as though a bomb has gone off. Papers and soldiers and staff are bustling around the table, the screen typically displaying a map is buzzing grey like a broken television. I feel my blood thicken and my heart slow.

"Glad you could make it, Abernathy. Take a seat – there's been a detonation." I'm not prepared for the words, though I know I should be. I don't move from my spot, my legs are stuck. There are bodies pressing in everywhere as they try to push by in a rush to collect details. I'm not breathing.

Coin is in my face, her hand gripping my chin as she looks me over with scrutiny.

"Snap out of it." Her voice is deadly calm and I'm coming back. I slip into my chair feeling like I'm back in the Mentor's Room. Back in the Games.

* * *

><p>It's been too long since there's been any communication. Far too long.<p>

They've sent me out after I nearly strangled a kid for taking my map. My feet are wandering the halls, leading me nowhere in particular. My mind is reeling on the possibilities that are at hand, the solutions that can be utilized.

"Haymitch!" I hear the young voice call out from behind me. My shoulders tense and my face pales. I would know her anywhere. I turn, looking straight into the eyes of Primrose Everdeen.

Her smile is wiped clean off her lips when our gazes lock. There's a hint of terror that crosses her features and then it's gone – replaced with sheer determination.

"Tell me." She says. I fiddle with my shirt cuff and look at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but her. She is the one person who terrifies me. The one person whose safety, whose life, is what got them all into this mess in the first place. She is the epitome of what we fight for.

"They've lost contact." It's all I've got. The explosion had gone off; the communication lines had gone down. Radio silence. Neither of us moves from where we stand, our thoughts turning over in our heads.

"What are they doing about it? Why are you down _here?_" This little girl has fury and it's building quickly. It's coming at me like a wave. And then it hits, with the hot slap of her hand across my face when I can't mutter a response to her question. I've got no smart words for her. No coos of 'it'll be alright' or 'they're fine' because they're probably not.

They're probably dead.

I'd sent her off to the slaughter with a reminder to be kinder, not to stay alive.

Her hands are clutched at her mouth now as she lets the shock of her actions roll over her. I'm deadly calm in my resolve – I deserved this. I'd let this happen.

"There's an aid mission to the Capitol for civilians. I'm going. I'll find her. She's not dead." Her words are like ice on my spine. She probably is dead. Prim has no business in the Capitol. But I say nothing – it's not my place. I am not the patriarch of the Everdeen's.

* * *

><p>My room is vacant of life, the cold concrete encasing me in this hell of confinement. I sit on the edge of my bed, head in my hands, as I contemplate different ways to find her body and bring it home. Give her the send off she deserves.<p>

It's morbid but it's all I've got. It's what you do every year when a Tribute dies. It's habit. I should have followed the rules – always stay detached from the walking dead. But I hadn't.

I'd put her there, forced her to be the symbol. Like she was a game piece to be played with. I'd forgotten that she was special, that she was precious. I'd become a Gamemaker.

The personal television that I've been assigned clicks on unannounced. It fills with coverage of the bombing. Even here in 13 we have mandatory viewings of the grotesque Games we humans play.

I hear the shrieking before the broadcast ends – the people outside my door losing their symbol. They don't get it. Not really. To them, they've only lost a figure, not a person.

I'm glad for the lock when I hear Jo outside my room. She's yelling herself hoarse, her voice fuddled by Morphling as she struggles to get in. Her words get weaker too quickly and then it all stops. I don't move from the bed for a long while. I just don't want to believe it. Can't.

* * *

><p>I make it to command before President Snow is interrupted, the televisions all around me playing his message as though haunting me. I enter, pushing pasts the guards, to see Coin address the nation. Her words are cold, calculated. Maybe I'm the only one who sees beyond them.<p>

She's glad that Peeta didn't have to be the one to crush the Mockingjay. Much better for the propos like this.

When she finishes, she meets my gaze head on. There's no remorse here – only determination.

"Abernathy, I believe you're no longer needed here." I feel the guards at my back, reaching to grab me.

"You know they're not dead yet." We measure each other, a battle of wills.

She can't be dead. Not yet. The flame is still lit and I'm not talking about the rebellion. I can feel it in my gut.

* * *

><p>They don't find enough bodies, our sources say. They've released mutts after them, it's rumoured. There's word of imminent capture.<p>

I don't even bother to consider it.

She's alive. That's all that matters.


	14. Rather Be the One Dying

_haymitch/finnick, effie purchases finnick's "services" to help haymitch take the edge off during the games_

_ymorton_

* * *

><p>"Finnick, you need to listen to me now," My words are rushed as he huddles himself in the cushions of the lush couch. The suite we're in is locked from the outside, the standard practice for a Victor purchase. The click of the lock had thrown him off, despite our training. The boy is about to be broken in for the first time and it makes my blood run cold.<p>

He's too young for this. Far too young.

Ever since he walked out of that Arena a Victor I'd known his fate was sealed as a Capitol whore. It didn't take much to recognize the perfect features and the attractive appearance of the kid. Or the way in which everyone in their Games' best would drool as he clutched to his golden trident.

It made me sick.

He'd been assigned to me as an additional mentoring duty after his tour completed. Break him in, they'd said. Show him some tricks, they'd commanded. Make him a feature, they'd required. Since my own win my soul had been sold more times than I cared to remember and they'd chosen me, a failing feature drinking my way out of attraction, to show him the ropes.

It was worse than leading kids to the slaughter.

The boy still wasn't responding, his knuckles white as he held his knees. I bent down in front of him and squeezed his shoulder. His eyes flicked to mine for the first time. I didn't bother to smile. There was no comfort I could provide for him now.

"Finn, remember what I told you? Put it away. Lock it down." His head nodded slowly as he took in my words. I'd told him to distance his soul from this, to only let them have his body. "They only want the show of a Victor, to escape their lives – remember that."

* * *

><p>The room is spinning but it's a perfect kind of tilt. My Tributes are still alive and it's 10 days in. It's a rarity, this survival rate, but I'm not going to argue. I haven't stopped watching the monitors since the Cornucopia countdown and my nerves are wearing thin.<p>

Even affable Effie is growing impatient with me and my curt demands. She probably just can't handle me nearly sober. Or in the light of day. But that's something different all together.

I've spent the last few hours turning over in my mind the scene of the little girl from 11's death. It was tragic, sure, all of them were, but this had been more. Immediately after Katniss had decorated her in flowers I'd been contacted and ordered to provide a provision to be paid for by District 11.

It was disconcerting and more than a little out of the norm for district's to be cross-gifting, especially when they still had another Tribute in the Arena.

I couldn't help but feel there was something bigger at play here. That the districts were waging their own war outside the Capitol's fortress walls. It made my skin crawl and I'd nearly snapped Effie's neck earlier when she had interrupted my sponsor calls.

My thoughts were tangled up in the strategy and the mess that the Tributes were in in the cave as Peeta's infection got worse. I was working on a plan, an idea that would get my girl to the approaching Feast, when I heard a knock on the door behind me.

Lifting to my feet, the slight pang of whiskey jostling in my gut, I opened the door to a stumbling of limbs and heat and lips. It took a moment to pull back from the surprise and see that it was Finnick Odair pulling at my clothes and tugging my shirt from my pants, his hands everywhere on me all at once.

I wanted to vomit.

Pushing him off me, stepping back, gulping in air, I looked him over. He was all strong lines, tan skin, but his eyes were dead and there were a few too many drugs lacing his system that I could see in the pulse in his neck and taste on his lips.

Such a waste of a man.

* * *

><p>"Will it hurt?" He's coming back to reality now when he speaks these words. I couldn't lie to him. I wouldn't.<p>

"Likely. This woman has an interest in whips, but usually nothing scarring." I don't want to terrify him by mentioning that she's a sadist who revels in discomfort more than pain. It won't change anything for him – we're both trapped here.

I'll do anything to help him. To save his soul.

He's standing now, pacing the room in his netted gold loin cloth. I try not to look, to avert my eyes, but I know it's pointless in the end. It's unlikely that we won't be forced to 'play' at some point. I feel nauseous.

"Haymitch?" He's looking out the window now, his back to me.

"Yeah?" My voice cracks a little. I don't want to do this. Please don't make me do this.

"I don't hate you for this. I just wanted you to know that, before-" He doesn't have a chance to finish before the lock on the door clicks and a tall whisp of a woman strolls into the space with a large leather bag. I step forward to take the first beating – to give him a chance to lock it all away.

Let the Games begin.

* * *

><p>"When they told me you were tense, I didn't expect <em>this<em>," His voice is like velvet and seduction as he steps towards me again. I don't move, I can see the difference between the Finn I know and the Finn who's been bought.

I taught him the difference.

"She said you'd be difficult," His hand is running along my shoulder and I try not to flinch.

"Who bought you?" My mouth feels like sandpaper.

"Effie Trinkett. Said you needed some... release?" His hand drifts down and cups my groin through my trousers. I know it's useless to push him away. He won't go. He's been bought.

"Finn, you don't have to do this. Sit down, for gods sake." Pulling from somewhere unknown, I surprise him by forcing him into a chair and then landing in my own. Give me distance from this. Give me patience. He tries to rise and I glare. "What are you on?" I sift through my drawer of meds, looking for the anti-pill. His fingers graze my wrist as he takes the pill and downs it.

We sit in silence, across from one another, as he waits for it to kick in. I watch him slowly return to the Finn I know.

* * *

><p>When it's over, he's bloody and there's bruising on his body. I'm worse for wear having taken the brunt of the needs, but it's clear that he's hurting. I shoot him up with the typical Capitol remedy and lay him in the bed as I settle down to sleep.<p>

As the morning light dawns I feel his body curled into mine and I hate it. He's too warm by my side, too vulnerable to be a piece in these Games. I move to get up from the bed, only to be pulled closer to him.

"Don't go, please." His lips are chapped and cracked and he won't open his eyes. He didn't lock it down like I'd taught him, instead letting the bruises seep into him.

I couldn't help him. I couldn't save him.

* * *

><p>"Better?" I can see his pulse has slowed and his eyes have returned to normal. His body is nearly limp in the chair and there's a broken part missing from his smile.<p>

"Can it be like it used to be, Haymitch? Just this once for old time's sake?" I look away from him now, my eyes falling on the screen as my Tributes huddle in the rocky cavern. It's been so long since I've seen him so broken and it hurts to watch.

When he'd finally come of age, he'd sought more than training from me. I was nearing closer to being thrown away by the Capitol after having become a slight bit too unruly to sell. He'd wanted comfort. He'd wanted a kind hand. I'd tried to give him what he needed.

"I don't think that's the best idea, Finn." It wasn't. It was a terrible idea. But he was like a dog with a bone as he lifted himself quietly from the chair and pressed in on me, his lips finding mine.

I let him fuck me. Let him get it out of his system. When he was finished, I let him hold me like he'd done so many times before.

It wasn't for me that we did this. No, I was long since needing it. I let him do this for himself.

"Question, mentor to mentor." His hands pause on his belt as he recognizes the change to shop talk. Both his Tributes are out, we're not breaking any unspoken rules. "Would you rather sit and wait, or wake up in mourning?" There is no pause.

"I'd rather be the one dying."


	15. Confusion

_**Peeta** AU: Katniss dies during Mockingjay. He can't figure out if he killed her or not._

_Bibsy_

* * *

><p>"Real or not real, Haymitch?" I can't stand the pitch of my voice, the panic in my bones or the pulling at the base of my spine.<p>

He won't look me in the eyes. My crazy eyes. He won't look.

"Haymitch!" I'm shouting now, my hands are tied to the chair in the room and he's standing there, watching his feet, his shoulder slumped and his heavily bearded face hidden by his unruly hair. The smell of vomit and liquor has rejoined him and I can't figure out if the story I've just told is real or not real.

There was a shiny part to it. But the other part, the darker part, was very much dull.

* * *

><p>Don't you <em>dare<em> let her in here. Don't you dare. No. Stop.

I see her through the window to my room. She's watching me.

_Get her away from me_. It's not safe.

They let her in, I try to refocus. My hands are around her neck and I'm out of my own body. There's rage and fear and shiny memories coursing through my mind as my hands squeeze harder. I can see the bruises blossoming under my fingers.

There's hands on me now, pulling me back. A needle in my arm. The memories are fading but I still see her, collapsed on the floor. She's not moving.

I look at my hands, confused, before I'm unconscious.

* * *

><p>President Coin is in my room.<p>

_To what do I owe the pleasure? _I don't say it out loud. I'm strapped down. Coherent, but still contained. Nobody has been in my room in days. Not doctors, not nurses, not visitors. They slide a plate through a hole and that's the only contact I get.

"Katniss Everdeen is dead."

I can't breathe. I'm relieved. I'm dying inside. A small part, ever so small, is missing. I'm excited. I think I'm smiling. She's smiling too. Is it okay then? That's she's dead?

I look down at my hands remembering a memory in this room. Is this real?

* * *

><p>Finnick Odair is here. He's pacing and looking at me in my bed. He's muttering. I'm not moving. Does he even realize he's in the snake pit with the devil?<p>

"Alright, they've got her... okay... not his fault... no need to tell... fuck...all the rope..." His mumbles are incoherent. Nothing makes sense about this scene.

I shake my rails and his gaze switches to me. Focuses.

"Oh, you're awake." He leaves after that. I think he only came for the quiet of the crazy room.

* * *

><p>There's a pillow over my face when I wake up. My hands are still strapped down and I can't escape its pressure. It's hard to breathe and I'm trapped.<p>

There's panic. There's fear. But a small part of me is relieved that death will finally get me. Save me from this confusion. I deserve to die. Kill me, please.

I hear screams from around me. I know they're not mine. They're female and small and then there's a grunt and the pillow lightens somewhat. I hear a crash and the girl screams. The pillow comes down harder and I'm gasping into it.

Almost time now. I can feel my lungs starving for air.

The pillow is gone. I'm gasping, my head back on the mattress as my vision returns. I look around and Prim is standing at the side of my bed, her posture tense and protective in front of me. There's blood coming through her nurse's uniform – coming from her.

Gale.

He's in the corner, his eyes panicked and dilated. He looks crazed. And then I hear the words.

"He didn't kill her, Gale! You know that!" The little girl is screaming.

"He made her! You found her! How can you stand in front of him, he put the bruises there before the rope did! How can you defend him?" His voice cracks on the last part. My breath stops.

Is this real? Is she dead? What's going on? Why is nobody talking to me?

I shake and pull at my restraints, something inside of me growls and I can't control it. Prim turns, her face covered in tears as she steps back. Away.

"Get out, Gale." She's watching me. Brushing the tears from her cheeks with her sleeve. She approaches me like a wild animal and she wipes at the tears I didn't know I shed. Her fingers brush back my hair from my eyes. I'm panicked and screaming and straining as she runs her fingers through my hair.

When I stop shaking, it all clicks together.

I look at my hands and then up at Prim's gentle face. I don't speak the words. She shakes her head anyways.

* * *

><p>Haymitch finally turns to my struggling form. My wrists are bloodied at the restraints.<p>

"Not real." I don't believe him. I stop moving and stare.

"Is she dead, real or not real?" I whisper it. I don't want to know the answer. I can't stand to know. Not Katniss, please not her. Please.

"Real. But it wasn't you. She took care of it herself."


	16. and you love her

_Annie Cresta & Baby - "One year, for mothers day, my mother took me to the beach... And left._

_teknicolored_

* * *

><p>I learn to swim when I almost drown. She'd dropped me in the wide ocean, water to her knees, as she sang and looked out at the sun.<p>

At least, that's what the bystander who pulled me from the water said. They said she got 'distracted'.

My lovely mother, Annie Cresta, her maiden name _please_, just isn't right. But she ain't heavy, she's just my mother. And I love her.

* * *

><p>I've never met my father. He's never been replaced. When I was young, she used to mention him, sing about him, as though he was still here. But I knew he wasn't.<p>

"The time has come," my mother would say, "to talk of unpleasant things." It'd be a rhyme, her words, playful and terrible. She'd recount his war footage to a 'T', the gruesome death forcing nightmares on me for weeks.

Maybe it was to my benefit that my mother was just a little_ off_. She never had to hide the fact that my father was so many things. She'd share it openly with me. Honestly. And we both knew that she loved him.

It's why I loved him.

* * *

><p>When I'm five, we're at the beach. It's not <em>our<em> beach, the one in our yard where I play in the sun. We've driven off, far across the District. I don't know where we are but I bet it's an adventure. She likes to reward me with adventures, especially when I'm good.

Today I gave her flowers for mother's day. She'd smiled and then gone away for a while.

When I come in from the water, the salt drying on my skin, she's not there. I only start to worry when the sun lowers in the sky and the last family are packing up their things.

"Are you Kai Odair?" The woman asks.

"Cresta. My last name is Cresta." I insist. She nods, her hands on her hips as she looks around. My mother isn't there, I've looked.

"Let's get you home," She reaches out her hand and I take it, reluctant but not sure what else to do.

When we pull up to my house I see Mrs Everdeen sitting on my porch. The woman who drove me home asks me to wait in the car. They don't look happy and they speak with their hands. I don't stick around – hiding out in the sand dunes in the yard.

Mrs Everdeen finds me there later, curled in the sand as the sun creeps down on the ocean. I watch it eat it whole.

"I'll be staying with you a while, your mom's gone to visit some family. Is that alright?" I nod even though it's not.

* * *

><p>She didn't always leave me behind. Tried not to. But sometimes I think it just got too much for her – they say I look more like my father with every passing day.<p>

I try not to even though I want to. I want to be everything he was.

I love my mother. I love her smile and her stories and the way she tucks my sheets in around me at night. She's good. She just sometimes burns the kitchen down while she's searching for shells.

* * *

><p>My mother can stick around for months. But when her mind drifts away like a raft in the ocean, those are the days when I feel lost at sea.<p>

It's on a day in a week like this that I have my first run in with someone's fist. I'm fifteen and my face is swollen but I don't regret it at all. Mrs Everdeen picks me up from school, patches me up, and speaks to my mother.

Important people from the District come. They ask me about living with my mother.

Later, when they talk to her alone in the kitchen, I sit by the door and eavesdrop. She's despondent with her responses. They threaten to remove me from her care. It brings her back and she fights.

She's my mother and I love her.

* * *

><p>Gale Hawthorne offers me a job in District 2. My mother is greying but still young, never having lost that bit of innocence that marked her pure. She doesn't so much burn things now – I do all of the cooking – but she still disappears. She's forgetful now too and I think maybe it's become more than just her not being quite <em>right<em>.

It's not so bad. I handle her with care.

I considered asking her to come with me, but she won't leave the ocean. She won't leave the waves and the sand and the warmth of the beach. Mrs Everdeen moves in instead and it's like it always should have been.

On the day that I leave, she tells me to be brave. Reminds me to come home. She runs her fingers through my hair and calls me Finnick Odair.

* * *

><p>There's a way about Annie Cresta that only a son can understand.<p>

You love and love and love and sometimes it's just not enough. When you get the call that she's gone, you don't fall apart like you could. You don't because you're strong – you're like your father. She taught you the necessity of swimming and standing on your own two feet. She taught you to fight.

She taught you to love.

And it's okay that Annie Cresta is gone. It's okay because she's with the father you love, who she's always loved, and that's okay because sometimes Annie Cresta just wasn't _right _here. And it's okay.


	17. Coming Home

_katniss/haymitch, my shoes are too tight and i've forgotten how to dance_

_miotasachsaol_

* * *

><p>She won't get up. Not for the doctors, not for her mother, not for <em>me<em>.

Ever since her return from the Capitol's holding cell she's locked herself away in her room, determined to die alone and in the comfort of her own bed. I know because I laid her there when we returned and that's what she said.

"I'm going to die here, right in this spot."

I'd withdrawn from her that day. Returned to my house to drown the past few months from my memories. I'd hired Sae to keep an eye on her, keep her fed, until I could get my own wits about me.

They didn't come back until I found Peeta standing in the yard. He was planting the primrose bushes at the side of her house and I couldn't look him in the eye. He'd taken the time to get better, entrusted me to make her better for him. He'd asked me to bring her home safe. Before the Quell, at the assassination, in his screams in my dreams. He'd said:

"If I come home, make sure she does too."

She'd come back, sure, but she wasn't Katniss. She wasn't the girl he expected.

On the day that I first return to the side of her bed I'm startled by the pallor and tightness of her skin. She's turning into a skeleton before us, rotting away here in the darkness. I try to pull her up, panic lacing me because of her vacant eyes. She doesn't fight, her body limp against mine.

I can hear the shovel cutting into the ground outside her window. Surely she can hear it too. It's like her grave being dug. I stumble us over to the bay window and place her on the bench. She doesn't blink as the light casts down on her and the sounds of outside grow closer; she's an empty body. My blood is cold as I stand over her, watching out the window as Peeta plants another bush.

My trips become daily after that. I sit for hours by her bed watching the air fill and empty from her chest. I'm watching her die, I'm sure of it.

It's morning when the warm scent of fresh bread drifts up to us from below. It's unexpected, but hard to miss. This is the first day she starts to come back.

"Tell him to go away. Tell him I'm gone."

I hear it crackle out from her neglected throat. It's raspy and dry, but it's still alive.

"Tell him yourself, sweetheart."

I spend the afternoon drinking after that. Try to hide in a bottle the fact that she's fighting so hard to disappear before us when we've fought so hard the last few years to stay alive. It's like a slap in the face, to bring home someone unwilling to keep living.

Weeks pass at a similar pace. I place her by the window, I take her downstairs to the kitchen, I sit her on the porch. It's outside in the fresh air that we see Peeta for the first time. Her head in my lap shows tension like the rest of her frame as he watches us from the yard. When he steps closer, she sits up.

She hasn't done this before. I try not to let hope get inside.

They watch each other through the rails of the porch like caged animals. I stay seated, unsure of the exchange. There's a thrumming energy rolling off her now – like she wants to get up and run to him. I place my hand on her shoulder, pushing her gently forward, urging her to do something.

She tries to stand. She falls.

Months of laying catatonic in her bed have caught up to her. She's gone again, her eyes dull, as Peeta kneels at her side with his voice full of panicked mumbles. When he lifts up and returns her to her bed, I follow like an old watchdog.

There's crashing in Peeta's house that night. Screams of rage and anger spilling from the kitchen.

I don't go to him. He's been alright so far.

The smell of fresh bread returns to us a week later. She's only a quiet whisper.

"I don't know how to do this. Why can't you both just let me go?"

I fight the urge to leave and drown myself in liquor. Instead I move to sit by her side on the bed, my legs stretched out and my back against the headboard. She doesn't turn over. And so we sit.

When I return a few days later, my eyes falling on the bed, I feel like an intruder. Peeta's there, wrapped up by her side, asleep. I try to categorize my feelings but it doesn't work. There's a little bit of panic, elation, worry, confusion. I sit in the kitchen for the morning until I hear the front door click shut.

Making my way upstairs, I find her standing in the window, watching the outside world. It's the most reactive thing I've seen from her since she came home. I stand frozen in the doorframe, waiting to see what's next.

"Haymitch?" She's still looking out the window and her voice has lost a little of its rasp. "Can you please change the locks?"

It takes me a moment too long to understand the implications of her request. Fear bubbles inside of me, concern for Peeta, for his actions. I brush it off.

"No."

She looks at me then and falls to the floor. I join her, lying on the plush carpet across from her. Her eyes aren't vacant anymore, but full of fear.

"I don't want him to watch me die."

I can't breathe for a moment. We aren't talking about dying. She's still alive. She's not dying.

"He's not watching you die. He's trying to get you to live." We watch each other for another moment before I brush her hair from her forehead and then return her to the bed.

She eats a full meal that night (well, full considering it's more than I've seen her eat in a month).

I give Peeta mornings with her. I stick to the kitchen, listening for any sounds that would cause alarm. Just in case. Each morning his quiet exit bids me access to upstairs. I start reading aloud books and stories. She starts moving on her own accord.

There's progress here. I watch it every day. Sae recognizes the change as well, increasing her meal intake and balancing out her diet. The colour and skin and flesh return to her.

It's a mid-summer morning when I enter through the porch door to find them in the kitchen eating breakfast. It's quiet and comfortable and I can't help but be surprised that she's in another room that I didn't have to carry her to.

We eat together and when she goes back to her room, Peeta stays with me in the kitchen. We look each other over in silence. When he stands to leave, he breaks the quiet.

"Thank you for bringing her home, Haymitch."

And then he's gone and I'm left to wallow. All I did was bring back a shell, he brought her home.

We celebrate the end of the reaping's with a festival. It's been months since we've returned to the District and the ground is still tarnished with ashes. But the spark is back in her eyes and Peeta has her nights, hunting has her mornings, and we still sit together in the afternoon's.

I sit with her in the bay window on the day of the celebration, watching out the window in silence as Peeta leaves towards town and the square is decorated with meager follies.

"He wants to go to this tonight." She never looks at me when she speaks, the few rare times that she uses her voice when I'm around. We're silence type people now. I let her continue on her own. "I don't... I don't think I remember how to do all of this," she waves her hand in the air, "this _normal_ stuff."

I look at her then, gauging her. I lift to my feet and reach out a hand to her. She looks at me then, her mouth shocked into a small 'o'.

"Come on then, sweetheart." I reach forward and grab her arms, pulling her to her feet. I'm okay with making an ass of myself, if only to get a smile from her lips. They're so rare still. I do a small jig and then stand, waiting for her to mirror my steps.

She tries. It's awkward and terrible. We practice all afternoon and when we're tired and quiet again I pull her close. We follow the steps of an old slow waltz and she's surprised and self-conscious.

When Peeta joins us, leaning in the doorway with his arms over his chest and a small smile on his lips, I can't help my own smile as we finish dancing with her head on my chest.

"It's time to get going, best get dressed." I step away and leave the room as Peeta steps in. He catches my arm before I go and squeezes as I pass.

I give them the next few days instead rotating between caring for my geese and my bottle. I've lost track of the days when I wake up to find her sitting across from me at my kitchen table. She's in her hunting gear and her hair is mussed.

"How did _normal_ go?" I ask, my fingers tracing a pattern on my table. There's a smile on her face when I look up to meet her gaze.

"I'm never wearing those shoes again, no matter what anyone says."

She came home. It took a while. But she did.


	18. Invictus

_finnick i am the master of my fate: i am the captain of my soul ( - and other mantras that will get you killed)_

_chipsplease_

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><p><em>Out of the night that covers me<em>. Another night. Another buy. I tuck away this rot inside of me. Let it fester on the inside, keeping me smiling on the outside.

It's all a show, this grand facade. They think they have me, think they've taken the deepest part of me. But my _unconquerable soul_ is an ocean and its heart has abandoned this body. I've given it away on a string to a girl. I don't need it, not here.

Through the torture and the pain, through the endless assault, _I have not winced nor cried aloud_. I am as stoic as the cliffs of Dover. I will perform like the tides.

They will not break me with their Games. Not now. Not ever. In my compliance I am not complacent, but collecting. I steal secrets, I trade lies. They will not win this battle – _my head is bloody, but unbowed_.

When I am home, when I am _beyond this place of wrath and tears_, I am free. I am with my heart. It is calm and it is steady.

The return to the slaughter, to the Games, is before me. It _finds and shall find me unafraid_ – I will go back, I will not run. They would win, should I falter.

I stay. I perform. I fuck and I tease. I trade words and I make plans. I play their Games while laying my own. They think they have me under their thumb but they forget, _I am _still_ the master of my fate_. _I _will always be _the captain of my soul_.


	19. at war with yourself

_**katniss/peeta.** you live every day like you're still in war_

_hotpiexoxo_

* * *

><p>"You live every day like you're still at war."<p>

"I am still at war – can't you see?" Her voice is distant, harsh. It's been a bad night so I pull her closer; breathe in the smell of her, just to have this moment.

"You don't need to be anymore," I whisper against her neck. She tenses in my arms and I know that my simple words have brought out the fight in her. I roll onto my back and lay my hands over my eyes as an unstoppable sigh of frustration escapes me.

I can't help myself sometimes – now and then I just need to push back for every day she tries to push me away again. I do it because I love her and because I know that she's not going anywhere. Neither of us are. We fight the hoops that life makes us jump through because neither of us was returned just 'right'. We fight each other because we can't fight the past and we need to fight something. Anything.

I feel her turn over next to me, finally facing me, as her eyes burn into the bare skin of my chest. I don't look at her. Not just yet.

"I can't help it." My hands tighten into fists and I press into my eye sockets. I breathe in, pushing down the anger that's bubbling. It wouldn't help to _start_ the fight. Not if there's a chance it can be subdued. It's too early – the sun's barely up.

"You can Katniss. You don't have to fight yourself. None of it was your fault." I've said these words before. They never seem to stick.

I feel like I'm riding a high horse here, when really I'm one to talk. Many days I'm worse than her. I beat myself to a pulp and she'll clean me up, she'll repair me. My wounds are always physical. Hers are not. I can't be in her head, patching up the nightmares. I wish I could.

"Sometimes, I feel like I'm stuck down a hole." I'm broken out of my own disgruntled thoughts by her quiet tone. She's laid down her weapon, she won't fight today. Today is a day she'll roll over and die again. I can't watch her do it.

Turning back over on my side, I face her. We're nose to nose, my fingers lacing between hers.

"My father told me something once. I think I was mourning a broken heart caused by a young Miss Everdeen," I joke, my eyes never leave hers as a small smile breaks on her lips. "He told me a story of this guy who's walking down a street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep, he can't get out. A doctor passes by, and the guy shouts up, 'Hey you, can you help me out?' The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on." I pause, picturing Dr Aurelius with his terrible glasses.

"Then a priest comes along, and the guy shouts up 'Father, I'm down in this hole, can you help me out?' The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a friend walks by. 'Hey Joe, it's me, can you help me out?' And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, 'Are you stupid? Now we're both down here.' The friend says, 'Yeah, but I've been down here before, and I know the way out.'"

I look at her then. She's pondering the words. Testing to see if they have merit.

"You're in the hole with me, aren't you?" I press my lips to hers then. It's quick and chaste.

"We'll find our way out, Katniss. You don't have to go to war alone."

We don't talk anymore after that. We don't fight either.


	20. It isn't a Trick Pt 2

_Prompt by: lillian_raven_

_Katniss/Peeta, it isn't a trick she is really pregnant_

_Note: lillian_raven is amazing and requested I continue this little ficlet, so it'll pop up a bit. She's also busy translating Collections into German which can be found at s/7977240/1/Sammlung or /s/4f7835ae0001120906711940_

* * *

><p>I didn't sign on for this shit.<p>

My fingers grip into the cushion of the interview chair I'm seated in as I watch Peeta Mellark make his confession to all of Panem. I try to see if it's true from the look on Katniss' face, to see if she's just shocked enough for it to be fake.

I pray that it's just another little trick they're playing, another mention to garner more odds in their favour like Haymitch had them do last year.

If it's not... Well, keeping her alive for one day will be hard enough with the Gamemakers. Three days? Fucking impossible.

* * *

><p>After the interviews Mags and I return to our floor. She can feel the tension rolling off my shoulders as I step out and slap at the first ornate vase I see. We speak in the tongue of the past to avoid recording as she watches me rage.<p>

"It changes nothing, Finn." She's insistent on this.

"I beg to differ. It changes everything. The Gamemakers will come after her with a vengeance. And our agreement? It blows up." I'm stalking around the room. I think my fury mostly lay with Haymitch for not telling me sooner.

We could have dealt with this in the plan. Fixed it before it became a problem.

"What would you have done, had you known?" Mags' hand is on my arm now, stilling my movements. I don't think before I speak.

"It would have been taken care of. Haymitch has her ear; he should have had it taken care of." I'm appalled at my own words. I'd just become everything I hate, controlling others for the advantage of myself. I step back from Mags and look off, embarrassed.

"And if it was Annie?"

I don't need the question, I already feel bad enough. If it was my child, I would protect it with everything I had.

In that moment, I understand Peeta Mellark. He'll make it to day three too, if I have any say.

* * *

><p>It's Haymitch who, not surprisingly, offers me the bottle as I join him, Johanna and Beetee in the District 12 lounge. We're alone here, the recorders having gone dead with a flick of Beetee's switch. Peeta and Katniss, I've been informed, have retired for the night.<p>

I don't blame them. They were never creators of the plan anyways.

We sit in silence for a moment before Johanna speaks up, her words startling me.

"Just another reason then?" Beetee nods, his swift fingers fiddling with his worn shirt.

"Like we need any more reasons," Haymitch mutters under his breath as he takes another sip. I can see it eating him alive, this girl of his being thrown to the slaughter again while he can do nothing. He'd broken the rules about Tributes, the one where they tell us to never get attached.

"Did you know, Haymitch?" He looks at me then, my question surprising him.

"Of course I didn't. Don't blame me for this; I would have taken care of it." He snaps. His brows furrow as he realizes what he's just said.

"No, Haymitch you wouldn't have. We all know it."

"I would have had a plan, at least." It's a small whisper from this man. The one who's been the driving force behind this secret revolution since the announcement of the Quell. We've worked together so diligently to get these plans in place and now there's another factor – the added hatred of the Gamemakers with bloodlust for the unborn.

None of us speak after that. We're all aware that there are no options for us other than to do what's already planned.

Beetee is the first to leave, with a quiet goodnight. Johanna follows soon after, scoffing and reminding us that this will probably all blow up in our faces. When the room is empty I let the faux-Capitol smile fall from my lips. I'm tired of wearing it for others. Haymitch doesn't need me to wear it.

"I've got this," I say. I mean it. I will give everything to last the next three days. When Haymitch looks at me, a sadness I've never seen before is clouding his eyes. It makes my chest clench.

This man has been a Mentor for too long. He finally got to bring someone home and now he has to watch them play again. He's also losing his friends, the Victor's he's known for years and coached and helped play this Capitol game.

He's standing on the brink of losing everything in one fell swoop.

"How could he be so damn stupid?" His words surprise me when they come out quiet and deadly. I can't help but defend the boy.

"He's not stupid. He just didn't realize the extent of his actions. That's how we usually get here anyways." It's all I can offer. I don't agree with him – Peeta is probably smarter than us all. He's got too much to lose.

"We have to bring them both home now – do you get that?" I look at him quizzically – we planned to bring our team back, but why the sudden urgency to guarantee he gets home for sure as well? Katniss was always the main purpose of the plan. "If he doesn't come home, she won't either. She won't do it without him."

I turn the idea over in my head, looking at it from all angles. Haymitch knows this girl better than anyone, they have an unspoken line to each other, but she's a survivor and I can't see her losing it altogether for a boy.

"She's strong. And she has you."

"It's not enough. You don't get it. In District 12, kids rarely last the first year. They starve or they get sick. Katniss won't face a war, let alone returning to the District if he's not there, especially in this state. She won't last the night, no matter which family members she has waiting at home. She's already decided to come in here to die for him." His words send a chill down my spine as he takes another pull on his bottle. I can see his eyes getting bleary and I know he's going to fall over the edge into a rage soon.

I don't want to be here for that.

"Do you need me tonight, or will you be okay?" I ask, rising up. On the rare occasion I've stayed with Haymitch through the night. More often than not, it happens when his Tributes die and he can't face the darkness alone.

"No, we'll say goodbye now." I watch him lift unsteadily to his feet as he hands me his silver bracelet. I'm unsure of it, holding it between my two fingers. "It's your token. It's the only way she'll trust you to last past the Cornucopia." He answers my unspoken question and then pulls me in for a hug.

I'm surprised by the ferocity in his grip until he lets go and walks away. He doesn't turn around as he heads into his room off the hallway.

* * *

><p>The Arena is hell. The tricks are torture, pain and terrible all at once. I keep him alive, if only just to keep her alive longer.<p>

We all know how this works. At least until there's a problem.

There's a separation and then the plan fucks up and we're all in different places.

When we're on the hovercraft heading to 13 it's like a war zone. Haymitch was right – not bringing him back is disastrous.

We've also lost Johanna.

There's too much going on. Too much chaos and terror.

Later, when I find her sedated on the table, I'm surprised at how little she actually is. There's a small tell-tale bump now, but otherwise, she's just a normal girl. I think about all that's been given for the life of this girl. I grip her fingers tightly in mine and I can't stop the words slipping from my lips.

"I hope you're both worth it."


	21. Not Just Yet

_Alternate epilogue; Katniss visits the hanging tree._

_fairest1_

I'd given them a Victor. Given them a bride. Given them the Girl on Fire and even the Mockingjay.

I'd given everything.

Now I'd take what I wanted back. My life, my choice.

I woke up in the bed, the side where Peeta once slept was cold and vacant. He'd never returned from the Capitol after the war had ended. After I'd shot Coin with my own arrow instead of Snow.

It had been weeks and still no Peeta.

I'd given myself the deadline. If he hadn't shown by today, then I'd have to do what I needed. I couldn't wait for him any longer. He wasn't coming back. They wouldn't even tell me if he was dead.

I pulled on my leather boots, their fit tight and familiar. A cold comfort in the morning light as I gripped the rope from Finnick in my hands and made my way to the tree line.

I passed Haymitch's house on the way, pausing and debating as to whether I should say goodbye. I don't think he'd understand. Not really. For all his harshness and bitter anger, he wouldn't let me go like I so dearly wished. He'd find a way to keep me around, keep me catatonic.

At least trapped in bed I'd still be breathing.

I walked on, sure of my plan.

Approaching the tree, it felt old and ominous above me. Its branches were thick and heavy, daunting and imposing. I could see the song playing out before me, the lonely lovers and their tragic tale. It made my gut wretch.

Carefully, ever so carefully, I lifted myself to its limbs. I was weaker now than I once was. I tied the end to the tree, formed a noose in the other. Finnick had taught me that. I hadn't thought then how useful it would be.

Slipping it over my head, shifting to the edge of the branch, I tightened the rope around my neck. I thanked Finnick for his knowledge. I thanked my sister for her life. I pushed myself off.

* * *

><p>When I woke sometime later, rope around my neck, sore to the touch, I couldn't help the tears that slipped my eyes. What was I <em>doing<em>?

I pulled the rope free and looked over to see the branch on the ground beside me. It had rotted through and through, it's innards mere dust.

I couldn't stop the sob that ripped through me then, the near feeling of death closing in but not taking me yet.

It was late when I stepped out of the trees. I saw Haymitch chasing his geese, stumbling through the thick grass as he cursed thickly. I pulled my collar up higher, trying to hide the bruising I knew undoubtedly was there, and made towards my house.

Getting closer I paused. Someone else was here. My blood pumped and anxiety filled me as I rounded to the front yard.

Peeta.

He was there, digging into my garden with ripped up primrose bushes.

I took a step back, dropping the rope from my fingers. It fell heavily at my sides as he finally looked up. I felt his eyes settle on my neck. I'd look away if it didn't involve turning my head. I couldn't, instead I stared head on, and watched his face tighten as his gaze met mine.

"Katniss," His voice was soft. He lifted his hands up, dropping the shovel at his feet. I wanted to run. To hide. He'd caused bruises so similar to these not long ago. He stepped forward. I stepped back.

I tried to speak but it came out as a wheeze. He moved to me then, his approach faster than my retreat, as he caught me and fell to his knees. Pressing his head against my stomach he ghosted his fingers across my neck.

I couldn't fight. I was done fighting.

"Katniss," It was a whisper against my skin. Slipping down, I pulled him closer. I didn't need words. He had them all, mirroring my thoughts. "You came back."


	22. Hush Little Baby

_Katniss/Peeta AU Mockingjay. When Peeta betrays the Capitol on air, they take away his greatest strength: his words._

_redkay23_

* * *

><p>"<em>Hush little baby, don't say a word  Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird / And if that mockingbird don't sing_..."

Someone was singing. It was haunting and cold and dead.

_Annie_.

She was in the cell down the row from him; he'd seen her dragged by countless times, as though they were doing it just to remind him that she was there. Captured. Tortured.

A scream let out from Johanna's cell.

"_Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring / And if that diamond ring turns brass..." _

They were trying to drown each other out. The madness and the terror. Like a never ending battle. He wanted to scream at them, beg them to stop, but his throat didn't work and his mouth was full with something.

He started to panic, fear of this unknown torture being thrust upon him as he lay strapped to the table. He felt his eyes go wide, his wrists strain involuntarily against the restraints. His body was pumping adrenaline like he'd been stabbed.

Maybe he had. He couldn't remember.

"_Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass / And if that looking glass gets broke_..."

Broke. He was broken. He took a breath in through his nose, determined to calm himself down. He needed to think – _think_. He slowed. Running a mental check he went bone by bone, joint by joint, looking for injury.

He could find none.

None but his voice being absent and his screams being silenced.

Johanna let out another shriek, as though mocking him unintentionally.

"_Mama's gonna buy you a billy goat / And if that billy goat won't pull_..."

Goats. _Prim_. Goats. No, no. He wouldn't think of her. Not of them. He wanted to scream for Annie to stop.

"_Mama's gonna buy you a cart and bull / And if that cart and bull turn over_..."

Fuck.

He pushed his tongue around his mouth, feeling the hard surface across his lips. It was then that he could feel the band tight around his cheeks, his teeth propped open against the heavy plastic ball forced between his jaw.

He noticed the pain then, a slow ache in the joints that told of extended use. He wanted to close his mouth – it was too dry in here.

"_Mama's gonna buy you a dog named Rover / And if that dog named Rover won't bark_..."

He groaned. Or tried. There was no voice in him.

They'd done something. Taken his only tool. His words. It was punishment then, undoubtedly for his warning.

He didn't regret it – he would give it up for them. He'd give up anything.

Why couldn't they just let him _die_?

"_Mama's gonna buy you a horse and cart / And if that horse and cart fall down_..."

Please please please just stop.

He wanted to shout it out. Make her stop. Make crazy Annie just go back where she came from. Take her, set her free like a bird. Please please please.

"Shut up Annie, please!" Johanna, calling out, begging. She was conscious too.

They were destroying each other with their last breaths.

"_You'll still be the sweetest little boy in town_..."

Never. Never again.

He heard the guard smack a whip against flesh. He couldn't tell whose.

"Shut up, bitch." Annie. It must have been Annie. He felt the hot tears on his cheeks at the sound of weeping. He couldn't call out to them. He couldn't save them. His words had all been for naught.

The quiet voice rang out again, the air dead around them.

"_So hush little baby, don't you cry / Everybody loves you_..."

Until you die.


	23. I'll Play

_finnick- if it looks like i'm laughing, i'm really just asking to leave_

_wakemexsoftly_

Fuck me all you want. I'll put it in you, fill you up and make you break. I'll hold you in your desperate arms and press your lips to mine. Put your mouth on me, your tongue. I don't mind. You've bought me for this time and I'll be what you want. It's my duty, my reward for living.

What a fucking joy this is, to keep breathing. To keep fucking.

Shoot me up with your new drugs. Press your finger to my pulse and feel it hum with the burn. I'm yours to take, yours to abuse. Fill me with the tragic pills and remedies you yourself won't face. Rub me till I'm raw and still crying out for more. I'm yours, all yours, for just an hour more.

Sell me, sell me, buy me, buy me. I'm the king of the world and a Capitol whore.

Tell me your secrets; let me read your lips. I'll show you mine if you tell me yours. Breathe into me and hold me down. Scream it against my throat as your fingers scratch my skin. I don't care if it's good for you and you don't care if it's good for me. Whisper your secrets and I'll make you feel mine.

I get it up, I get down. Ride me and hold me. Your arms are cold but so are mine.

Don't tell me your sad words. Not while I sit here bought by your filthy money. I won't appreciate them. I'll smile for you; keep up the show of paying attention. That's where I play best, don't you see? You think I'm listening, empathizing. I'm not. I'm really just asking to leave.

Fuck me with your body. With your mind. With your words. I'll play along. But don't think I'll ever be yours.


	24. The Watcher

_katniss/peeta – hunger games – mockingjay au; peeta rescued from the capitol, not hijacked but of having no recollection of katniss at all_

_hotpiexoxo (hotpiexoxo ficathon)_

I'm not quite sure who she is, but she's looking at me as though she knows me. Like she can see into my soul.

It's unnerving, the way she stares at me.

I'm currently locked up in the psychotic ward of District 13's medical bay. They didn't have any other beds left in the trauma center so they put me here instead.

Okay, maybe they put me here because they suspect I'll flip off the edge and go batshit like Johanna did when we arrived and Haymitch tackled her, bottle in hand, to the floor of the entry room. I can't blame her; I wouldn't want to be wrapped up in those foul liquored arms any more than she did. She had every right to toss him loose and break his nose.

When they sent me here with my hands cuffed, I tried not to take it personally. None of them really knew what we'd been through in the Capitol and my memories were a little foggy themselves. But I'm trying to make sense of them now as I sit here strapped into this medical bed with this strange girl with dark skin peering at me through the glass.

I really wish she'd stop.

It's been a couple of days since my return and every so often she'll disappear from the view. I sleep then, comforted in the fact that I won't be watched. I'm tired of being watched. She's always there again when I wake up.

* * *

><p>On the fifth day I see her scuttle away like the crabs I saw in District 4 as the door is pushed open and a young girl, barely older than 13, enters the room to check my vitals. She's given orders not to release my restraints.<p>

"Hello Peeta, how are you?" She knows who I am. Who is this girl?

"I'm okay, I guess." There's no reason to be rude to her, she's not the one watching me all day.

"Good, that's very good. My name is Primrose and I'm going to check some things – is that alright?" Her voice is airy as her fingers flutter over my skin. I nod, flicking my eyes between this blonde haired child and the dark beauty in the window.

Oh, she's a beauty now? I check over my own mental state for a moment.

"Prim," I take liberties shorting her name because it feels right, "Do you...Do you know who she is?" My finger lifts and points towards the door where the girl outside immediately widens her eyes and disappears again. I try to mask my disappointment that she's gone, instead looking up to watch the changing expressions on the young girl's face.

"Oh," She gasps quietly, looking over her shoulder while her fingers brush over my IV. "You don't recognize her?"

Should I? I don't want to ask.

"No. I don't." My words are stiff and it feels wrong to admit it. We let the silence stretch out for a moment too long before Prim bids farewell and heads out the door. When it swings open, the girl who's been watching me is no longer there.

I miss her already.

* * *

><p>She's back again two days later, her absence noticeable in my state of intolerable boredom. Haymitch has stopped by every now in then, prompting questions that get me nowhere. He asks about the Games, about the Capitol, about home, but none of it answers any of the questions I have for myself.<p>

I feel like I'm missing something. I can see it in his eyes.

When she reappears in the window, I know she's not alone this time. Her eyes are puffy with bags underneath and it's easy to see that she's been missing sleep. Who is this mystery girl that watches?

When another face appears in the window, this one far more recognizable, I try not to scowl. Finnick Odair – what is he doing here? Why is he with her?

What's going on?

I don't know why but I'm jealous of him with this girl. I've made up such stories in my head, such imaginations that she's more to me than just a stranger, and now I think I'm even beginning to convince myself that she's everything I've made her out to be.

I try to contain my utter grief (the kind that doesn't make sense when you have absolutely no ground to stand on) when I watch him lean down and plant a kiss on the top of her head. I watch her small smile and I wish she would smile for me.

I really must have gone crazy.

* * *

><p>"Who are you?" I shout it out loud today. I'm tired of watching and being watched. Tired of not knowing who she is and why she's here. Mostly I'm just tired of not knowing her. There's something in her eyes, the way she stands so calm and filled with sorrow, that draws me to her.<p>

She startles almost immediately as though torn out of her dream. Her eyes look panicked and I can see the tears behind them that she refuses to let fall. I don't understand – did I cause her pain? She turns to leave and I call out again for her, my shout strangled in my lungs.

"Please don't!" Above the beeping of the machine strapped to my pulse I hear her back hit the door with a thump. She's still there but she's no longer watching. "Just tell me who you are, that's all I ask."

Another unfamiliar face fills the window then and it's angry. What did I do? It disappears for a moment before I see the figure through the glass lift up the girl and carry her off.

I feel like I've just lost something very important to me.

* * *

><p>I feel the eyes before I wake. I can sense someone else is in the room with me. I don't want to wake up – I don't want to be punished again. I stay still, my eyes falsely shut with sleep as the machines continue their steady hum.<p>

I can't pretend any more when I feel the fingers on my forehead, brushing against my skin and into my hair. I snap my eyes open and wrench my body upwards against the restraints holding my arms. The hand that was once on me is withdrawn with a snap and I look over to meet her haunting gaze.

I can't say a word. My mouth is dry. She's beautiful and heartbreaking and I wish I weren't restrained because all the stories in my head just make me want to pull her close and breathe a sigh of relief that she's here with me.

"Peeta," Her words are a whisper next to me. I watch her eyes glow in the light of the machines as the room remains dark.

"Have you come to kill me?" I feel vulnerable, strapped here to this bed as she lurks in the shadows. I can hear her inhale sharply at my words.

"You really have no idea who I am?" It sounds pained and I'm sure I'm not the only one in this room who feels their chest tightening with despair. I am probably the only one who doesn't know why, though.

"No. I want to, but I don't think I remember you. Should I?" When she nods sadly I wish I hadn't asked. I don't remember a lick of this girl from before my time in the Capitol and it's killing me. I want to know her. I need to.

She stands to leave and I feel my opportunity slipping through my fingers.

"I want to know who you are. I do." I try to make my words convey my desperation but they must fall short. She's still walking away from me. "Please, don't go. Stay." I'm begging but she doesn't turn around.

"It's probably best you don't remember me, Peeta Mellark. You're more likely to stay alive that way."

And then she's gone and I've never felt more alone in my life.

* * *

><p>She doesn't come back again. When I'm released she's nowhere to be found and no one will tell me where she is. I'm starting to think she was just a ghost who came to see me home. That's what I have to keep telling myself anyways because the alternative – that I've lost something so precious – is just unbearable.<p> 


	25. Moments

_Portia (bonus points for Portia/Peeta or Portia/Cinna)_

_i had the blankest year / i saw life turn into a TV show / it was totally weird / the person i knew / i didn't really know_

_peachygoodness_

"I don't want to die."

I turn then, noticing for the first time my Tribute as he stands tall against the wall. He's stripped down to his bare form, Beauty Base Zero as they call it in the Capitol, and he looks raw. And beautiful. I don't love Peeta Mellark.

Not yet, anyways.

* * *

><p>When he holds me and shifts against me, I know it's not me that he's picturing. That's okay – we don't do this for meaning in the Capitol. Only ever for lust.<p>

That's what makes it okay.

That, and the fact that this boy hadn't had the words to ask for something he clearly wanted before he died. I couldn't deny him even if he didn't say the words out loud.

So when he pushes through to his finish I don't make him feel bad that he's left me behind. I sit up, professional as always, and straighten my skirts down again.

"Are you ready to make an impression?" I tidy his hair back into place and pat his cheek gently. He doesn't smile.

* * *

><p>Standing in the tube he looks too young. He's stoic as he looks above him to the circle of light that beckons. I want to run through the glass and bring him back. Keep him safe.<p>

He's entranced me, this one has, with his words and his love story and with everything that he stands for. I know it's not the love that binds but instead the desperate kind of need that makes you want to save someone.

When I go home that night, my TV never turns off. I watch the whole way through just to make sure he lives.

* * *

><p>He's screaming when he comes out. I'm not sure why they've brought in me but they have. I try to keep my stomach contents down as they threaten to rise while I look over his tragic body. The Arena has destroyed it.<p>

The announcement that he's going to lose the leg catches me off guard. It's quite rare now-a-days that the Capitol can't salvage a limb. To be honest, I think they're just unwilling because he's broken all the rules.

I go home that night and set to work immediately on designing a new leg. Function, strength, mobility – all the things I thought I would never use in Games design.

* * *

><p>The day he wakes up I've already attached the new addition to his body. I run my fingers across his jaw as his eyes flutter open. They're panicked and not nearly as steady as they used to be. He grabs my wrist tightly, squeezing it between his fingers.<p>

I don't resist.

"You didn't die Peeta, you're right here." I whisper it quietly to him. I watch him try to shift upwards but the weight of the leg has caught him off guard and his body slips against the smooth steel of the table.

I try not to match his sobs as he realizes that he's missing something.

"Katniss..." It all clicks then and I long to sooth his worries.

"She's alive too. Both of you are."

* * *

><p>He's not the same boy I met before 74. No, this time before the Tour he's fragile and sinking and I can't help but mourn for the way his eyes look hollow. He keeps up the show for the cameras, but I can see through it.<p>

When he dresses for the final day of the Tour, there's almost elation in his face at the realization that he gets to go home again. It's almost okay again for him.

* * *

><p>I tried not to get attached to my Tributes. That's what everyone in the Games warns against – get too close and you lose your edge. But he was different. He wasn't in this to win. He just didn't want to die.<p>

So when I watch the announcement of the Quarter Quell rules I can't help but feel for the boy I know. This won't bode well for him – he'll go in for her and he'll save her, but that means undoubtedly that he will be lost.

He'll give up everything for her. It's what he does. That's why everyone loves Peeta Mellark.


	26. The Sky is Falling and Im Chicken Little

_katniss/peeta; all we know is falling._

_starsweeping_

* * *

><p>The Sky is Falling and I'm Chicken Little.<p>

Where's Katniss, where's Katniss, where's Katniss.

My toes are tapping at the base of the tree as Beetee wraps the wire tight and looks to Finnick to take the lead. It's abrupt and surprising when he grabs my arm, pulling out the knife hidden in my waistband and turning it into the flesh of my arm.

I don't get out words when he pushes me down and tries again, the knife digging into my skin in another location.

"Don't panic," he keeps repeating it and his face looks calm. How do I _not_ panic?

I scramble to my feet again, pushing him off me. I feel the blood on my skin as I look to Beetee who's holding out his own arm for Finnick to dig into.

They've all gone crazy and I'm a dead man.

I don't get to process the thought as the wire snaps back at us, its tension released. There's no time to think and I'm off down the hill, calling out for Katniss with all the breath in my lungs.

I hear Finnick crashing through the trees behind me and the chase is really on. When I hear screams up ahead I force myself to focus and not see the images floating through my frazzled mind. I almost drop when Finnick comes crashing past me, his legs carrying him swifter through the underbrush as he shouts for Katniss and Johanna.

It doesn't make any sense. None at all.

First he attacks me, and then he's chasing after Katniss? What of these loyalties?

I press on, determined to find her before anyone else does. My feet are heavy as they crash around, bursting through the vines and plants that tangle. I hear the roar of the insects around me and it makes my head pound.

"Katniss!" I'm not sure how much time has passed since the wire went loose. There's blood on my arm and I can't figure out which team I'm on. I hear a struggle in the distance and see the unfamiliar blood coating the ground near my feet.

My heart beats in frenzy as panic sets in, clutching at my breath and holding me captive. No. This can't be right.

"Katniss!" I can tell my voice is broken, if not barely carrying over the sound of the bugs chirping in the next section over. They're screaming now, filling the air with a horrid torture. I need to find her.

I follow the trail back up towards where I've just come from, each step I call out louder hoping she'll be near. The amount of blood seems to lessen as I get higher up. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing but I do know that any blood typically is not a good sign.

I try not to let the anxiety overwhelm me as I push forward along the trail of red.

The insects begin to calm and I know what we're facing next. Soon there will be lightening filling the air, striking the tree and the golden wire that is tangled in the branches around me. The plan won't work now. It's too late for the wire to be strung.

I call out again and I finally get an answer. She's close. She's alive.

My feet carry me faster up the hill but it's not fast enough. I hear the canons boom all around me and it shakes the Arena. The insects are on their last clicks and I can hear her shouting but we're not close enough. I won't make it. No no no no.

"Katniss!" I call out one final time before I see the lightening strike and the world explode around me. In an instant I'm knocked to the ground hitting hard against a rock. I have a ringside view as the trees alight with flames and the dirt below bursts to life and rattles with a final breath.

I don't know what's happening but I know it's not good. The sky above is rippling in and out as the fireworks that are being displayed are overtaken by a strange darkness. The screens that light the Arena are flickering out.

The Arena is collapsing on us and I can't move.

"Katniss," It's more of a strangled gasp this time as I feel something suffocating me from the inside. My chest feels heavy and the rock below me has my shoulder in an odd place next to my head. I couldn't move even if I wanted to.

It's almost beautiful, this terrifying way to die. I hold in the panic as I watch the sky fall above me. It's pure chaos.

When I see the claw lowering down over me, feel it clamp into my broken form, I don't have the energy to panic or resist. The Capitol can have me. They're going to kill us all. The sky is falling and I wish I were already dead.


	27. The Shape of the Word Prim

_Sorry, but I lost the info on who's prompt this was :(_

"Prim!" My voice rips through the quiet night and instantly I feel the arms around me clench tightly and pull me closer. I push back, determined to pull away my sweat slicked skin from the boy next to me, if only to capture my breath back in my lungs.

His fingers slip against me and suddenly my urging forward has rid me of him and I'm off the bed on the floor. I lean back on my hands and look up to the startled eyes that meet mine over the edge of the mattress. My hair is sticking to my face.

"Katniss, come back to bed." It's a quiet plea in the dark of the room. I can see his pained expression. I stand, taking a tentative step towards the door before turning around and rejoining him. I don't immediately fold myself into his arms, instead choosing to sit with my body taunt against the headboard.

He watches me from where his head rests on the pillow at my hip.

"It's okay to be sad." He whispers. I can feel the tears burning at the backs of my eyes and I wrap my arms tightly around myself. I miss her. Oh, I miss her.

I feel his fingers grip mine tightly and I can't help the sob that rips from me. When it doesn't stop he's up and pulling me close, running his fingers through my tangle of hair and breathing against my neck.

If I wasn't so consumed with my own pain I'd feel his body racked with sobs next to me. We don't talk about Prim.

* * *

><p>"You know, if I hadn't killed Coin, we'd probably still be underground."<p>

Her voice is singsong among the trees. I don't see her on ground level but I know she's close to me, always is when we go out into the forest. It's become a weekend ritual for us, spending the days in the wild. She hunts, I gather, and we come to terms with just being near each other.

"I don't think you could survive down there. You need this like a plant needs the sun." I hear her laugh above me and look up to see her perched in a tree. "Consider it self-defense." Her laughter is cut short at my words and I feel her mood shift.

"I don't feel bad about it, you know." I look at the ground as I hear her clamoring down behind me. She places a hand on my shoulder and I shift the bag I'm carrying.

"Good." My eyes meet hers carefully. I am glad she killed her. Maybe that's what's wrong with Victor's – we see some deaths as good things. Even by our own hands.

* * *

><p>"Cato was huge! Do you remember? With a stone. That was his weapon." We're drunk and I'm not sure if it's bitter anger or utter despair that's filling me but I can't stop my spewing of words.<p>

It's the first real anniversary of the start of the Games and neither Peeta or I could stand to be alone in our house. Instead we migrated to Haymitch's where he was already ass-deep in liquor. We joined in immediately breaking all of our self-imposed rules.

"He was, he was terrifying!" Peeta agrees. I pour us all another shot.

"I think the worst was Glimmer – she just _fell_ apart." Haymitch joins in. I feel sick to my stomach, mocking the dead. But they're dead and I'm going to hell anyways.

"I don't know, Marvel was cocky. He kept talking about the riches he would have when he got home." Peeta interrupts.

And the circle goes round, each of us reviewing the Tributes who were more torture than friend. We don't talk about Rue. We don't talk about Thresh. And we keep drinking until it dissolves into quiet sadness at our words.

* * *

><p>"I was jealous of Finnick." I whisper it against her skin, into her neck. She squirms below me.<p>

"Why?" Her voice is breathless as I run my hand down her side. I press is against her and she gasps.

"He was always offering you something sweet. I thought he could catch you in his net." My lips slide against her chin and down her bare chest.

We'd come a long way together, advancing our relationship until we didn't even consider it. Routines were broken and we just kept living. We were moving on.

Below me she pushes up, flipping us over and rubbing against me from above. My hands are trapped above my head as her loose hair tickles my face.

"You had nothing to worry about, Peeta." She meets my lips with hers and settles down on me, gasping into our kiss. I break it, my hands grasping her hips tightly.

"Still," I insist, looking into her eyes. She scowls and rolls her hips and I have to bite my lip to keep from letting go.

"It was always you. Always." And then we don't talk anymore.

* * *

><p>He's raging and I think I set it off.<p>

We're in the yard of our house, our kids upstairs sleeping, and he's ripping up the primrose bushes. With each tug my heart is breaking and I'm lost at what to do. I see the cuts on his hands from the thorns, the calloused flesh torn and bleeding.

"Peeta, stop!" I'm shouting and crying and I can see Haymitch come out on his porch with a bottle in hand. I'm embarrassed of my inaction so I go to him and wrap my arms around him. "Please, stop!" I settle my hands over his.

Haymitch approaches us but diverts into the house instead. He's going to take care of our kids while we figure this out. God love him.

I feel Peeta struggle under my embrace and then he pushes me off him. I land with a thump on the dewed grass and cry out in surprise. He turns on me then, roses in hand, and his eyes are wild. I'm not sure what makes them calm, but they do when they settle on me sprawled on the ground.

"Katniss," I move to my feet and wrap my arms around him, unafraid of his next move. I can take it.

"It's okay Peeta, it's okay now." I feel him shake in my arms as I run my hands across his back.

"Katniss I thought... It was about Prim this time." I want to collapse at his words. I don't. I hold tighter as if for dear life. His arms come around me then.

"I dream about her too, Peeta." My words almost tangle in my throat.

"I'm sorry, so sorry." I rest my forehead against his as I brush back his bangs.

"It's okay. You gave me two beautiful children Peeta. We'll get through this."

We still don't really talk about Prim.


	28. He's My Brother

_friendship!Peeta/Delly - "I used to tell people he was my brother"_

_For the lovely jennibrolawrence19 who always always leaves a review!_

* * *

><p>I used to tell people he was my brother.<p>

We looked enough alike, what else was I supposed to say when they asked why we were joined at the hip? They'd probably judge us or accuse us of something more if we said we were just friends.

No. I was happy being a 'sister' to Peeta Mellark. He was perfect just like that.

At least until I turned fourteen and decided that maybe I didn't really want to be his sister.

It all started when I caught him staring off at Katniss, a girl in our class who came from the Seam. He wouldn't admit it to my face, but I knew that look was something special. Something he reserved only for her. And it burned in my gut as I watched him watch her.

I wasn't one for jealousy. But I wasn't one to sit back and just let her steal him out from me either.

That thought, I remember, had startled me. To what ownership did I have over Peeta? None. She didn't even know that she was the center of his affections. And besides all that, what was I thinking? Peeta _never_ looked at me that way. Not once.

Sure, he was all smiles and playful prodding, but that was the extent of our relationship. I think I'd spent countless hours disillusioning myself into thinking there was so much more between us. I'd been weaving myself into this intricate relationship that he didn't even know we had.

Oh, that day had been a reckoning. I hadn't talked to him for a week because of it and he just couldn't understand _why_ I was so willing to lambaste him for it. At the end, when he'd surprised me in my own room, I could have cried.

He had looked like he was about to too as he begged for forgiveness for something he wasn't even aware he was doing. It killed me. I think that's where I spun us out of control – and yes, I will take full responsibility for tarnishing our friendship.

He'd promised me then, in my room, that it would be forever. That he'd always be my friend and my person and that nothing would change that. There'd been declarations of love and a desperate plea for me to let him back into my life. The whole thing had seemed such a whirl wind and I'd kissed him.

We'd both been shocked. Had leaped back from each other and kept our guard across the room. I remember his words then, so serious and so careful for a boy of only fourteen:

"Delly, what am I to you?"

I hadn't answered, instead asking him to leave which he'd done so clearly disappointed in me.

The year in between that bout of silence had been absolute torture – a self-induced version, at least. Peeta had tried so very hard to get back on my good graces but I hadn't been able to let him in. I'd made efforts to fit in better with the Merchant crowd, to please my parents and date the higher end of the class scale (Peeta was quite low, according to my mother). I'd been successful too.

But I'd never stopped thinking about Peeta.

When the year had passed and we'd both neared the edge of sixteen, I sought him out, tired of playing games with other boys. I'd walked right into the bakery shop, determined to find him behind the counter as he was every day at four o'clock.

He'd looked at me and smiled sadly. I couldn't blame him – he'd tried and I hadn't. I asked him out for tea after his shift, my feet rocking me back and forth slightly as a look of confusion clouded his features. He didn't understand what I wanted but he agreed anyways.

Returning to the shop at ten I met him at the front door, just as he was locking up. I pressed my hand to his shoulder and there was no way I could miss the yelp of pain that let out of his lips. Instantly I was reminded of the way that his mother used the broom handle, the way that he used to come to school with bruises before the teacher talked to Mrs Mellark.

I felt my face redden at the memory, sure that I would burn in hell for abandoning him like so many in his family already had. He turned around then, his classic smile of confident jokery plastered on his face.

I couldn't wait any longer. Nope, not one moment more before I pulled him into the alley next to his house and placed my lips upon his. This time we didn't push each other away. Instead we pulled each other close.

I don't think I was really ready for the rush. For the discarding of my undergarment or the pulse of him against me as we handled each other in the darkness. It was fast and filthy and the remnants of him made me feel awkward and confused as we finished.

In retrospect, I'm not sure why I made it happen. It certainly wasn't everything I hoped for, nor was it anything but a need being filled. At least, that's how we both seemed to find it as we tucked our clothes back into their rightful place and refused to meet each other's eyes.

He asked me again, the same words that he spoke before. Only this time I didn't ask him to leave. I didn't look at him either. I put two and two together and figured out that maybe this was never meant to happen. That he was never meant to be anything but a friend to me. Because surely, that's what we were always intended to be.

"Peeta, I think you're like my brother."

It went back to being almost normal after that. We didn't fulfill each other's needs anymore. Instead we stuck to the 'friend' boundaries, our ever raging hormones directed on others. I even went so far as to provide him talking points with Katniss, one's that he never took up, I might add.

Until now, that is. I see him in the cave with the girl he's loved forever and I see him using his wit and his words to dazzle. He pulls out my very best line and my heart alights for him. He's going to get the girl.

I refuse to think that he won't come home. He is my brother, after all, and that's something you just can't think about.

_AN: So, I've decided to break The Watcher out into an expanded one shot. I'm not sure exactly when it'll be up (I'm working on it in between Swingsets), but I'll probably post it here or at least a bit of it here. Just thought I'd let those who asked for more know, in case they're reading. _


	29. He's Just a Boy

_Prim/Hijacked!Peeta, she visits him once while Katniss is in District 2_

_lawrencelys_

* * *

><p><em>He's just a boy. Remember that. Remember that he's just a boy who loves my sister. Who loves baking and painting and smiling. Just remember that when you're in there and it'll be okay. <em>

This is what I tell myself as I linger outside the stark white doors that hold Peeta Mellark. It's what I need to think about as I look in the little window, peeking my eyes over the edge to watch him pace a mark into the floor.

If it weren't for my position in the hospital wing, I'd never have been allowed down to this end of the treatment ward. Despite my age, they've granted me access to this boy who is so broken in the hopes that I'll be able to help him.

And I'll try. I know I will.

I just have to remember that he's just a boy who's been torn apart by terrible things and is having some trouble putting it all back together. That's what I'm here to help him with.

I reach up on my toes to gaze through the thick glass one more time. I can't help but think about the fact that Katniss would never let me in here, not in a million years, if she were here right now.

But she's not and I'm not sure if that's a good thing.

My fingers rest on the doorknob as I pull in a deep breath, flicking my eyes towards the guard who manages the impressive lock system that keeps Peeta in lockdown. I hear the gears clicking in place and watch as his body tenses. He hears it too.

He's just a boy who needs help.

I turn the knob fully and step in past the threshold. He glares at me in return, his shoulders pulled back and an angry look on his face.

"Hello Peeta. My name is Primrose and I'd like to help you." When he steps towards me, his hands clenched at his side, I resist the overwhelming urge to retreat.

He won't scare me off.

"Have you come to finish me off then?" His voice is rough as though he's been screaming himself hoarse. I shake my head no and can feel my braids swinging slightly. There's a crack in his mask of anger and for a just a moment I can see the Peeta I once knew from the bakery.

He's still in there, trying to get out.

"I want to help you. Can I do that?" I tilt forward gently on my toes, my body leaning towards him in an attempt to disarm him mentally. I try to put him at ease like I used to with the injured miners who my mother treated.

"I don't need help from you or your goddamn mutt sister! Get out!" In an instant he's changed again, back to the frightening figure that could kill with his hands. He's coming towards me again and this time I step back. "Get _out_." It's a threat and I take it seriously, retreating to the door but never turning my back on him.

Just as I'm about to leave I see him turn as his shoulders slump forward and he grips the side of the medical bed. His knuckles are white with tension as he holds the cold metal. In that moment I know I can't leave him.

I step forward towards him, my feet taking me forward before I really know what I'm doing. When I place my hand between his shoulder blades he jerks as if burned.

"_Please_." His request is sad and broken and I can't leave him when he's hurting like this.

"I'm here to help you Peeta. What do you need?" My voice is soft, the way I'd tend to a frightened animal.

"I can't figure it out. Not any of it." He never looks at me as he says it. I don't move, my hand still resting on his back.

"What can't you figure out?"

"I don't know what's real. It's all mixed up. All of it. I can't tell. It's all screaming and rage and I can't tell if it's_ real_." I can hear the panic rising with his words and my chest hurts with sorrow for him. I feel the tears prick at my eyes but I hold it together and step to his side running my hand down his arm into his palm.

"We'll figure it out, Peeta. Don't worry – we will."

And I know that we must because he doesn't deserve this. He's just a boy who loves my sister. Who loves to bake and paint and smile. And he just wants to make sense of this insanity that no sane person can really grasp.


	30. It Isn't a Trick Pt 3

_Possible Alter Change from Part 2 - Lorelei Eve I'm possibly kinda maybe working on one of your prompts!  
><em>

There's too much blood. Far too much. I can't account for it all but I know somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind that it's coming from me and that it's not a good sign.

I don't know how much I've lost, but as the red tinge coats my fingers as I lift them into the light I know that whatever amount it is – I've lost something.

I stand from the fetal position that I've been curled in for the last five minutes. I won't let this show – it'll kill him, surely. Instead of walking towards the camp, towards safety and security, I walk farther away until I can no longer see the shadows of my alliance flickering in the water's reflection.

I keep walking, my feet carrying me farther and farther from the beach where we've been stationed. When I hear them calling out for me, clearly searching, I don't turn around.

I've figured out the clock, the rotation of the schedule and the way that the wave of blood will soon cascade down the trees. I know it's a harmless torture, one meant to throw the Victor's mentally off balance and nothing more. I head towards it determined to coat myself in something other than my body's own fluid.

I arrive just in time as the wave crashes down. I stand on the edge, feeling it coat my feet before I move forward into it. It's disgusting and vile and the most terrible thing I've ever done but it nearly cleanses the pain in my abdomen as it disguises my failing body.

I couldn't carry this child within me. Even if I'd wanted to, which I'd only admitted once.

I remember that night as clear as day as the red liquid sweeps me out into the water. Peeta and I had been laying in the dark of my Training Centre room, determined to last the night in each other's arms before facing this intolerable arena. He'd told all of Panem my secret and I'd almost killed him for it.

Well, in my head I might have almost done it. In the real world I'd collapsed onto the floor and acted like a child until Haymitch had taken me upstairs. Peeta had joined me soon after, stripping from his Capitol attire with ease and then joining me in my bed in silence. He'd curled his body up behind mine, pressing into me as his hand landed upon my belly.

I'd wanted nothing more than to run from him at that moment. To hide and escape or maybe jump off the edge of the roof.

Instead I'd stayed, relaxing my form into his and letting the frustrated tears coat my cheeks. He'd whispered into my ear every thought that passed through his mind. How he'd done it all to save me. To save us.

When I rushed to protest, he'd insisted that one life was a fair payment for two. I'd never thought about it that way before – that he was giving up his life for not only me but for his _child_. That was the only moment where'd I'd wanted this being in my body.

I feel myself drifting out deeper into the water, the red wave disappearing into the dilution of the salt. I know my face is coated in it, looking like a demon risen from the hellfire, but I don't care. It bears the truth of what I can't say – that my body wasn't strong enough to keep Peeta's most precious thing safe.

I hear the voices of my alliance growing louder and I know it's almost time to face them. I hope they won't notice, that they won't plague me with questions if they suspect. Spare them at least this knowledge before their deaths – or better, take me and let them live.

"Katniss!" I feel the arms meet me then, lifting my torso from the water and forcing my head against a chest. The way the body moves in the water is clearly telling of Finnick's swimming power – there's no way the rest of them could pull me ashore as fast.

I'm still dazed when we arrive on steady ground, our bodies still immersed in the water. I hear heaving lungs and heavy feet splashing around me and I finally open my eyes to see a pair of faces looking down at me.

"I'm sorry, I was checking the clock." I whisper. Peeta scowls and Finnick merely begins to rinse my body free of the red stain. It doesn't take long before he realizes that some of the blood isn't going away – that it's coming from me.

"Peeta, can you go check on Johanna and Beetee? Get the flask and some water as well." Finnick sends him off, leaving us alone in the water as his fingers cup water into my hair. We don't speak for a moment, not until he is surely out of earshot, before Finnick meets my eyes with a deadly stare. "What did you do?"

I didn't do anything. I want to scream it out. To salvage me from my own blame and convince him that I didn't want this – that I wanted this child. His words send me over the edge and I'm reeling and letting my body sink into the water that if not for his hands would surely drag me under.

"Katniss, stop. Stop!" I hadn't realized I was thrashing until he grips the collar of my suit and pulls me up for air. I must look wild because his face has softened and he's frowning.

"I didn't do it Finnick – not on purpose. I don't know what happened. I don't know, I don't know what's happening!" My voice is a few octaves higher than normal and I can tell that I'm panicking here in this salt water as the cameras look on and watch us. His fingers brush gently against my temple as he hushes me.

"It's alright. It will be alright." He swirls his hand in the water around my body and forces the accumulating blood to disperse. It works and we climb onto the sand and head back towards the safety of our beach. Peeta meets us halfway, his breath heavy from running.

"Here," He hands me the water and supports half of my body with his as we walk back together. It's abnormally quiet between the three of us, a new tension filling the air as my secret hovers between Finnick and I.

There's no way to hide this – not for long. I can still feel the wisps of my body expelling fluid down my legs as we walk. Surely I've lost too much blood and I'm paler than the moon. Neither one says anything as I'm settled down on the sand. Finnick thankfully places a palm frond over my legs, hiding my lower half for a while longer.

"What the fuck is wrong with her?" I can hear Johanna yell from nearby. I watch Peeta's feet turn away from me, looking at her as she yells out.

"Back off, Jo." Finnick is quick to silence her and I watch his feet step away from my place in the sand. Peeta settles down in front of me, his hand running into my loose hair.

"I thought we'd lost you for a moment," He mutters. I don't want to hear it. Don't want to be the center of his focus. He needs to live. I close my eyes tightly and try to imagine we're back in District 12. His fingers continue their ministrations along my scalp and I can feel the tears escape my eyes.

I feel his body shift down to lay in front of me as his arm skirts around my hip to pull me close. I still hurt inside, every move reminding me of the tenderness of my body. I bite my lip to hide the moan of pain, determined to just not be here, in this moment.

"Katniss, something's wrong." He whispers it against my face, his warm breath tickling me. I can't do it. Can't. No. It's not fair. I feel his hand press into my back, trying to pull me closer and I can't handle the pain, whether mental or real I can't tell, and I cry out.

His hand shoots back as if burned and he's up in a flash, pulling the leaves from me and recognizing the small pool of blood in the sand around my legs. I can't stop the tears now, or the utter suffocation that's pulling me under.

Vaguely behind Peeta I hear Johanna shouting again and Finnick reining her in. I hear Beetee yelling for everyone to calm down. I hear Peeta kneeling over me repeating his words:

"It's okay. It's okay. Everything's alright." Even though surely it's not. He tucks the palm leaves back around me and I feel him stand and pace away. I don't move at his abandonment. I deserve to be left here to die. I wasn't strong enough. Not nearly strong enough for this.

It feels like forever before Peeta returns to my side though I'm sure it's really only a moment. His hands reach out and lift me up, walking me again towards the careful caress of the water. Finnick offers to help and I hear Peeta snap at him. When I'm floating once again, Peeta grips my hands in his and presses a kiss to my forehead.

"It's okay. It'll be alright." I blink open my eyes and look at him for the first time. He's crying. I can't take this. With whatever strength I have left I turn over my body in the water and attempt to swim away, to escape his punishment, but he grabs on my heel and there's no real fight to resist his pull. Before I realize he's got me in his arms, his embrace crushing me to his chest as his lips find my neck.

I feel like a traitor, like I've betrayed him and I don't deserve his comfort. I want to push away, I put my hands on his chest to do so but he stops me.

"Please don't make me do this alone," He's begging me to stay and I don't understand. I'm the one who's failed us – not him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so _sorry_." I try to make my words count as he pulls me closer. It hurts but I don't say a thing.

"It's okay. We'll be okay. Just _stay_. Please. I need you to just stay with me." I rest my head on his shoulder and let our bodies float together in the water. He cries into my hair and I try to hide my face in his neck. I don't know how long we stay there before Finnick is calling to us, offering dinner.

When we step from the water I'm no longer bleeding. I don't feel right, but I don't say anything. I know if doesn't matter – I'll die soon here anyways. I just hope that he's far away when it finally happens so he doesn't have to lose two things he loves.


	31. Bonded

_Haymitch, bonding with Katniss's daughter_

_Century_fox_

* * *

><p>"They're stronger than you'll ever know, kid."<p>

He claps the girl on the shoulder as they sit together on his porch. It's late in the evening but it's not the first time she's come running to escape her home. Her parents. He can't blame her for it – the house is haunted sometimes by the people who still live in it.

He lets her lean into his shoulder and wrap his arm around her as another crash fills the air. They watch in silence as the shadows in the windows play out their show of memories and torments. It wasn't always like this. So rarely now, since this girl's birth, have there been times like this.

But they still happen.

"If they didn't want me, old man, why didn't they just... not have me?" He tenses at her words. How do you wipe that doubt from someone's mind?

"They want you more than anything, sweetheart." He feels her head shift, her eyes staring at him as he watches the shadows before him.

"Oh yeah? Then why does this always start because of me? I'm not stupid, Haymitch. Dad locks himself in the basement and mum refuses to leave her bed for days. They don't even talk to me about it after. It's like they shove it all under the rug or something."

He knows it too. Knows that the fallout from the battle will last for days before everything settles. Each episode is like an explosion and he had hoped that they would stop before this girl could understand.

"The day you were born, your dad locked himself away. He was afraid he'd hurt you or your mum. Did you know that?" She shakes her head and sits back. There is so much that she doesn't know about her parents. "Your loud mouth was what brought him back."

"Oh get off it. It did not!"

"It did. His head is so full of screams, but yours, yours brought him back."

"What do you mean, 'his head is full of screams'? What are you talking about?" He tried to cover the surprise that she didn't know – how could they not have told her? There's another crash from across the yard and he sees the outline of Peeta in the window, leaning over a chair in the kitchen to hold himself steady.

"Your parents, they...didn't have the odds in their favour. They've come back from a lot." He isn't sure where to draw the line on this story – it's one that they should tell, not him. She studies him for a moment longer before she rests back against him.

"A boy at school told me they were in the Hunger Games. Is it true?" He knows that she knows what they are. It was part of the curriculum at school now, to study and learn from the travesty. The District school had decided to withhold participant's names, if only to protect the living Victors. He still wasn't sure if it was right.

He doesn't answer, instead pulling her closer as they watch the shadows dance together in the window. For the moment, the battle seems to be over. He lifts to his feet, an unknown tension slipping from his shoulders – he knows he won't be needed tonight.

"Come on kid, you can sleep in the guest room. Give your parents a night off."

When she walks ahead of him into the house, he knows that her days of innocence are almost at an end. Sooner or later, she's going to learn the truth and she's going to get hit hard. He knows he'll be there for her, sitting on his porch, guiding her through the fray.

It's what Mentor's do.

_AN: Oh I almost forgot about this one. Also, just an fyi, I won't be updating any more "It Isn't a Trick" parts here - I've figured if it goes past three parts it should probably stand on it's own so I've broken it out. Though I'd let you know._


	32. Harsh Words

_Harsh words, gentle bloodied hands_

_Lorelei Eve_

* * *

><p>My brother he's a big one, tall and menacing and all outspoken words. Those things come at a price for a family – we all made him that way. Relied on him too much. Made his life less than what he'd hoped it would be. So we couldn't hold it against him, hold anything against him really, for the way he sometimes lashed out.<p>

We'd inadvertently stolen his childhood from him.

Ever since our Dad died in the mine when we were kids, my brother's been out in the woods, hunting, trapping, scavenging for our survival. He'd learned on his own, stolen an apothecary book from the Everdeen's house before he'd even known Katniss as anything but a neighbour.

I remember how the act had crept inside him and rotted him for weeks. At least until he'd taken up hunting with Katniss in the forest – he'd told me in secret (okay, maybe in his sleep talking dreams) that he was happy to repay her in skills. I don't think he ever told her that he took their book. He's not really the kind of person who does that.

But still we love him because every year his name is in the Reaping ball four times too many. And every day he slips the fence to bring home food. And sometimes he ends up carrying off my best friend from certain death or being tied to a whipping post for keeping us alive.

Gale Hawthorne is a good brother. A good friend. A good man.

It's just that sometimes he forgets that he's good and gets caught up in this mess of Capitol constraint and does what he's doing now, raging at the television and breaking things. Things that we can't afford to break. Like Mum's glass vase that was a wedding present.

He's shouting tonight because of the Games. He's stuck on the endless tirade of the 'injustice of it all'. I try not to roll my eyes when he thrashes my way.

It's not that I don't agree with him – I do, completely – it's just that we all know that this year... Hell, the last two years, have been different for him. Katniss is in there and she's not alone. I think that's what bothers him the most.

And that's another thing. My brother has had years to make a move and yet he only realized during last year's Games that he wanted more? I know my brother isn't stupid, but that is a fool move, even for him. Everyone sees the way men in the District watch Katniss. He had to know this was coming sometime.

But sometimes I guess he can be completely oblivious. Like right now as he spins in circles, yelling at Prim who clutches my fingers tightly in hers, about the way they're using her screams to get to Katniss. I can't help but think that he's focused on that aspect to shame her in front of my family. When she gets up to leave, wishing us all a good night, I'm not only embarrassed for my brother, I'm angry with him.

I feel my fingers delve into my pockets when I shut the front door on Prim's departing figure. I know that if I don't stuff them into the confines of my shorts they'll be around my brother's irrational neck in a now all too frequent fight. One that seems to arise every night that Prim comes around and he dissolves into a raging mess of a man.

Instead of approaching, I watch from the side of the room as he runs his fingers through his hair, pulling at the ends with such force that it must hurt. He doesn't feel it, just as he doesn't realize the state that he causes. I don't say a thing to stop him because we don't do that in this household.

We'd rather let him lash out until he's too tired for anything more.

Because in all honesty, he's my brother and he has his faults and we'll take it even as the glass shatters around the room and Posy winds up screaming as she grips my leg for cover. We'll take it because through his harsh words, we also get his gentle hands stripping his bloody kill of its meat and the quiet way he always remembers to whisper 'goodnight' to us in bed before he turns in himself.

My brother is a good brother. A good friend. A Good man.


	33. The Watcher Part Two

I'm in the cafeteria for lunch when I finally see her again. No, she's not here in front of me. She's there, on the television, playing out the propo that District 13 has released once again onto the national broadcast system. I still don't know how they do it, but every so often they break into the closed channels and overtake the Capitol's highly secured line to the people.

I almost choke on my stew as she shouts about burning and the rebellion and eternal salvation that only comes from joining the fight. It's magnificent and enthralling and I can see why she's the center of it all.

When it ends, I'm even more confused by the way that I feel and the happenings of those weary days in the ward. I can't draw the parallel between that woman on the television and the fragile girl who watched me for days. They are of the same body, but there is no trace of them being the same person. Not in my stories, at least. It doesn't make sense.

I turn carefully to the stranger next to me, surely preparing to look foolish.

"Who is that?" I motion to the now dim set in the ceiling corner and implore this woman to tell me more. She scoffs and looks down at her schedule on her forearm.

"Have you been living under a rock? That's Katniss Everdeen. Victor of the 74th and final Hunger Games." The woman huffs out angrily and stands with her tray. She leaves without another word and I'm left to this moment on my own.

Victor of 74? But that's the Games I'm Victor for, isn't it? _Isn't it_?

I am quite seriously losing my shit as I sit here, my eyes frozen on the TV that lies dim in the corner. Lunch has been signalled to end and those around me seem to disperse with an unusual speed. I don't move, paralyzed by the confusing thoughts that are filling my brain.

We couldn't _both_ be Victor's. What was that woman getting at? Maybe she got the number wrong. Maybe she didn't know who I was. Maybe, maybe, maybe. So many maybe's. I lift myself to my feet, making for the doors before a guard yells at me to return my tray. I'm startled at his voice and jump, rushing back to grab my discarded items and placing them in the return.

When I'm finally free of the confines of the room I make my way to my solitary cage, a gift for the crazy of District 13, and lock myself in.

It's here in this room where I turn everything over.

I was supposed to know her. That's what she implied when she visited me. I'm supposed to know her well. Haymitch won't tell me but I know that there's more to this than just the strange occurrences that are all connecting together.

I can't help but wonder if perhaps there's even more between myself and the girl named Katniss Everdeen.

I resolve to know it – to search it out and find the answers because this feeling that grows in my gut (the one that tells me that I need her here with me) is not being quelled by the cautious actions of the doctors or the nurses.

I may not have all my memories, but I sure have stories, and if any of this is supposed to connect then maybe those stories aren't even stories. Maybe they're really memories.

Maybe I really, actually, truly, loved, Katniss Everdeen the Mockingjay and the girl who was going to save Panem or have it burn to the ground.

* * *

><p>I spend the next few days abandoning the schedule that's intoned in my flesh each morning. I don't care for the time slots or the classes or soldier duty – all I really care about is putting the puzzle pieces together and having it all make sense.<p>

Instead I sit in my room – my locked room – and write down every little bit that I've made up about the girl who watches me. There are pages, journals, full of my musings. If I weren't so determined to figure it out, I'd think I had an unhealthy obsession.

On the fifth day I hear Haymitch at my door. It's the first time that he's ever come looking for me, at least since I got out, and it doesn't bode well in my stomach. I try to ignore his rapping knuckles, pretending that I'm not here, but he doesn't give up.

"Boy, come out, come out, from in there. I know you're there." I open the door to his raised fist, preparing to knock again. He looks at me, his eyes startled by my disheveled appearance. "Well Peeta, glad to see you're giving off that 'sane' appearance." He pushes past me into my room and kicks the door closed behind him.

I turn and watch him sit on my bed, shoving my carefully arranged papers around into an unorganized mess. I'm tempted to yell at him for ruining my system but realize that it'll just make me appear even more unhinged than the hundreds of papers already do.

"Can I help you?" I try to keep it pleasant but it comes out more as a bite. His eyebrows rise slightly at me and he picks up one of the papers and begins to read. My fingers twitch slightly, longing to grasp it from him.

"What is all this, Peeta?" He doesn't look up from the paper, reading it all the way to the end.

It's a story from so long ago, one where we were just children at school in history class together. I thought about her braids in that story.

"Just stories. I got bored." I try to disguise the obvious fact that they're all about Katniss. Maybe he won't notice. I don't remember her name in that one.

Shit.

I watch as he picks up another one from the floor. This one is more recent, of us joking about frosting. The stories had seemed so real.

"Where did you get the ideas?" He pushes, looking up to meet my eyes then. I shrug, not willing to give away what could make me sound insane. "Hey," he insists, kicking out his foot lazily. "Peeta, where did you get the ideas?"

I feel the rage in me then, bubbling up from inside and pushing into my brain. If there is any proof to my theory he wouldn't be asking me this. He'd be realizing that I was figuring it out. I _am_ crazy – this proves it. I thrash out against my desk, shoving my token from the Arena to the ground and stomping on its gentle form.

The ribbon sits there, crushed under the sole of my shoe.

That didn't feel good. It actually hurt.

I see the old man stir in the corner of my eye.

"They were in my head. I thought they were real." I feel downtrodden as I admit it, certain that he'll be taking me to the loony ward again for more treatment. He doesn't move though and I look to him then, meeting his questioning gaze.

"So you remember then?" His words are almost too soft to pick up amongst the hum of the ventilation system. My eyes narrow. What is he not telling me?

"I don't know what I know, Haymitch. Why don't you fill me in?" I lean back against the wall as he stands unsteadily on his feet. He makes towards the door and I grab for his arm. I need to know. Need to. "Tell me!" I shout, but he shakes me loose.

"I need to make a call. Stay here." With that, he leaves and slams my own bedroom door in my face.

I want to set fire to the papers.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Okay, three quick things: <em>

_One, this is just a sampler of what's to come in "The Watcher" so head on over there and follow along if you want to read more!_

_Two, I may or may not have written two fics for thgkinkmeme - please let me know if I should post them here or just stay anon over there. _

_Three, I think at this time with three stories on the go, I'm going to pause on the ficlets and focus on those. Which means Collections is going to slow down from its daily update - sorry for that._


	34. Come Back

_AN: These next two prompts are from thgkinkmeme so be warned now.  
><em>

_Gale/Katniss/Peeta _  
><em>I just want fix-it, comfort fic. I want Gale to come back or Peeta to realize Katniss misses him terribly and bring him back and THREESOME happens ("You miss him. Real or not real?" And it doesn't hurt when she says yes, there isn't that dull ache of jealousy under everything. maybe he misses him too). Maybe Katniss wants to watch Gale fuck Peetavice versa before she'll let them touch her._

* * *

><p>I watch the way she watches the forest. Not for the trees or birds or anything that's there – but for the memories of the boy who she used to hunt with and the man who taught us snares and gave us an opponent during our training for the Quell.<p>

I can't say I don't long for those memories as well.

She misses him – plain and simple. There's no way around it. It sticks like a thorn in our side when we lay together at night after she wakes from a bad dream. Sometimes she shouts his name. Sometimes she shouts mine.

Her confusion is not the part that hurts me.

It's the thought that she has to hurt at all – that she's missing something that makes her _live_.

It's the idea that putting her back together will be better if he just comes back that has me writing a letter and asking him to come home. I doubt he'll listen, having been gone for so long already.

I wouldn't blame him. We'd still survive. But I'll know it might have always been better if he came back.

* * *

><p>When he shows up in our kitchen two weeks later, we're in the midst of a quiet breakfast. I don't move when I see him at the back door, his military uniform crisp on his tall frame. He looks good, I have to admit, but there's no jealousy there.<p>

I know Katniss loves me. She chose me. I did this for her. I'd do anything for her.

He catches my eye through the window and I nod, granting him access to our house. It's quietly respectful, the way he enters and removes his cap. He doesn't move when Katniss stands, her back ramrod straight when she recognizes him. She looks between us, her face confused.

"It's alright Katniss." I whisper, placing my hand on her back gently. Her brow softens as she turns to look at her long lost friend.

"You came back." It's quiet and broken and I can feel her breath rising and falling as she struggles to fight the tears. He doesn't answer, instead pulling her close and burying his face in her hair. I let her go, my hand slipping from her hip as I stay rooted to the floor.

If this is what she wants, she can have it. She can have my heart and everything else too.

I watch as Gale meets my gaze over her shoulder. It's careful and begging and I nod because I know what he wants and he can have it if only it makes her better. I watch from afar as he raises his lips to her cheek, sliding them across to her lips.

There's no jealousy that burns in my veins when she gasps, unknowingly allowing the kiss to deepen. If this is what she wants she'll have it.

But I admit I can't bear to stay and watch.

I tuck my hands in my pockets and turn on my heel, making to leave the kitchen and go for a walk. I can give them privacy – it won't hurt as much if I don't have to hear it.

I'm almost to the door when I hear her behind me. Turning back, I see she's still in his embrace, her lips red.

"Peeta, come back." It's a soft request, one I'm not sure I can give. Her eyes look at me, pleading for me to give in. "Please."

Whatever she wants I will give.

I step back towards her, watching Gale and the way his emotions play across his features. First surprise, territorial anger, understanding. When I'm close enough I feel her hand on my chest, her fingers curling into my shirt and pulling me until I'm flush with her side. My hands go to her jaw as I pull her into my kiss. It's fierce and hard and branding as I feel Gales arms slip from her hips between us.

She breaks our kiss, turning to Gale who has pulled away from us and is standing in the corner.

"Gale," I watch, my forehead resting against the side of her head, as she reaches a hand out to him. Our eyes meet, careful, watchful, as he takes her hand between his.

When he returns to her side, his body pressing against her as well, I can feel the heat radiating off of them both. My breath stalls in my lungs when I lean down to press my lips to her throat, tasting her flesh. It's soft and smooth, unchanged from when I last felt her below me.

I don't open my eyes when I feel her hand in my hair, guiding my head closer. I can hear them above me, their lips pressing together. It makes my gut stir and my pants grow tight. I'm surprised but unwilling to pull away. I need her to be okay.

There's a sigh from above, a finger on my chin lifting my face, her lips on mine. She tastes like him but I can't find it in me to care. I run my fingers along her jaw and into her hair, pulling her deeper into the kiss and pressing my whole body against her.

And then I feel it. His arm around my waist and his lips on my neck. I'm startled and surprised and I can't help but pull back and look at him closely, my eyes searching for answers in grey pools that remind me of Katniss.

"Is this alright?" He asks, his voice gruff with desire. I can see it burning in him and I want it. We need it. I lick my lips, nodding. His lips don't find my throat – instead they're hot and wet against mine and I gasp into his kiss.

I feel Katniss between us, her hand on my cheek, her fingers softly brushing my hair back from my face as Gale and I breathe each other in. When I pull back and open my eyes, I see a smile on her lips – small and tentative and beautiful.

Our hands are all tangled up in each other as we sink to the floor. It's awkward and strange but none of us stop as we remove our clothing and stare at each other's naked forms. We're young and scarred and each of us tormented but it doesn't matter.

It's like a rush when I'm against her, pressing in to her hip as my lips find hers and my hands caress her breasts. I feel a calloused hand on my cock and I know it's not hers – it's too large, too sure of its motions. It doesn't matter as I feel myself thrust into his grip.

After a moment, she breaks free and turns her attention back to him. I have a moment to watch as her hand glides across his length while she watches him. Together we pant and groan as we watch Gale give in, his hand tightening on me as hers tightens on him.

I drop my hand from her breast, quickly delving my fingers into her core where she's hot and wet and oh, so good. I shift to my knees where I'm able to thrust easier into Gale's palm while tasting the skin behind her ear.

"Peeta," I hear her gasp. Her hand closes over Gale's and gradually they pull me higher. I'm too close. She can see it when she meets my gaze. She knows this look. We've been here before.

Slowly, she pulls their hands off of me. I watch her take a moment to kiss Gale before returning to me, her hand on my chest and pushing me back to the ground. The cold caress of the tile is almost too much as she lingers over my length before slipping down, her back towards me.

I know she appreciates the way this position feels. I grip her hips in my hands and thrust up into her, listening for the shock of breath that turns loose. There's barely a moment before Gale is kneeling before her, kissing her as I push into her.

His lips absorb the moan I cause. When he draws back, I barely hear him whisper her name before he's standing in front of her with his length gripped in his hand. He strokes it carefully, watching us move together as my rhythm becomes frantic.

I see her look back at me for a moment, her eyes questioning without words before she turns back around and wraps her mouth around him. I can't contain the groan that escapes me or the way my hips piston furiously into her.

Somewhere in the distance I hear Gale calling out with a shout as his hand gets tangled in her hair. It's in that moment that I feel her muscles tense around me and I let go, my release spilling into her with a last violent thrust.

We lay together naked on the floor for a while after that, Katniss curled between us with one hand on each of our chests. It's the quiet sound of breathing that keeps me centered.

I know I'd do anything for her now, even if that meant sharing her. I'd do anything to bring back the smile she once had and the light in her eyes that brightened in the forest. When I look over at Gale, his eyes staring intently at me, I see he'll do the same. Always for her.


	35. Don't Hang Up

_AN: And another thgkinkmeme - this time a little unconventional. Don't say you've never thought of it.  
><em>

_haymitch/katniss, phonesex_

_midnight phonecalls in the victors village become a near-nightly occurence when they discover that talking about their nightmares with somebody in the exact same situation really does help, (and after a while it becomes such a habit that they occasionally call and just listen to each other breathe) but then one night they're talking and one of their nightmares involves a sexual element and before they realise what they're doing, they're describing it to the other and it completely sneaks up on them as, despite the awkwardness, it leads to curiosity, quiet prompting, then heavy breathing, hands wandering, etc etc_

* * *

><p>"Please don't hang up," Her voice is so low on the line that I barely hear it muffled against my shoulder. I hadn't planned on hanging up, only moving to the couch instead of the kitchen chair that seemed to grind into my leg uncomfortably.<p>

No, I would never hang up on her.

This isn't the first call she's made in the middle of the night and I very much doubt it'll be her last. We've come to terms with being awake. Somehow it makes it easier to sleep after talking over a nightmare with someone else who understands.

There's also the added bonus that we don't have to face each other when we talk about them. Despite her being only a few houses away, we never get together and have a little pow wow about our dreams. We could never look each other in the eye while we admitted the horrors of our years.

So when she picks up the phone each night around this time, always asking me first not to hang up, I know that I never will. I'll always pick up and I'll always listen to whatever haunts her. That's what we do for each other now.

"You know I won't," I reply gruffly, my voice mangled from disuse. I rest my head on the armrest and stretch my legs out, content to be at least comfortable while she recounts her tortures.

"Promise me." And this is new from her.

"Consider it bound in blood, sweetheart." I can't help but feel something is amiss. Where's Peeta? Surely if this were more than just a bothersome dream she'd seek him out. That's always been a divide we play by.

"I dreamt that it was you."

"That what was me?"

"Who loved me." I feel my body tense at her words. What was she getting at? I hear her breath suck in heavily with her confession and I turn it over in my head. I'm silent for a moment too long. "I'm sorry – maybe I shouldn't have-"

"No. It's alright. What happened?" I rest my hand on my chest as I listen to her breath and try to match my inhale to her exhale. The line is quiet as she waits a beat and I know she's trying to put it into words.

"We were on the train coming home. You woke me up from a nightmare and then..." I hear her breath catch and I realize I'm holding mine.

"And then?" I ask, prompting her for more.

"And then we fucked."

I almost drop the phone on the ground as I feel my body rush with adrenaline. The thing that works about these nightmare recaps is that we're able to talk about what we see, what we hear, and we both understand because we've been there. But this – this dream, oh this dream I've had too many times. I can't help the way my body flushes at the thought of her sharing these images.

"Is that it?" My voice is thick as I let my hand ghost over the bulge in my pants. I hear her breathing pick up on the end of the line.

"I enjoyed the dream," She admits and my erection starts to ache. I think I'm panting a little at the images in my head.

"How did it make you feel?" And that's all the psychoanalysis I have in me. I hear a shuffle on the other end of the line, the sound of voices in the background. Peeta. I pull my hand from where it rests on my dick, the thought making me uncomfortable.

"No, go back to bed. I'll be there soon." I hear her call out, distant from the phone. She returns with a huff and it's almost like her breath is against my face. I close my eyes to listen to her breathe. She slips back into the recollection without pause.

"It made me hot, to be honest. I woke up and called you because you're the only one I can talk to about it." I feel a tingle of elation that even the dream me makes her feel good. It's so very wrong.

"Oh, yeah? What did I do to you in this dream, if you don't mind me asking?" My hand snakes its way back down to my belt, unclasping it and then working on the button and zip. I run my fingers over my length, preparing for her words. This isn't right but I can't help it.

"Well, you were nice in this dream – that's a start." I let out a bark of laughter as she continues. "You put your hands on me first. I was clothed and then somehow I wasn't. I let you kiss me everywhere and then you," Her words are heavy now, her breath coming in short puffs into the phone and it makes my hand grip tighter. "You let me suck you. And then we fucked."

She glosses over the best part but I don't mind – I can see it all in my mind's eye and it is delicious. I lick my lips, the sound of her breathing turning me on even more.

"What are you doing?" I've no right to ask but I do anyways. She opened this door, I'll walk through it. Fuck, I'll skip through it. I hear her inhale heavily and I run my fingers over the head of my cock lightly.

"I'm touching myself."

"Good. Are you wet?" She's playing the game now. There's no turning back now.

"Yes. I like the way you breathe in my ear." It's a whispered reply but it nearly drives me over the edge. I move my hand faster, gripping my length tightly. "Are you touching yourself?" She's tentative in her ask. She probably already knows.

"Yes." I reply, my tongue bulky in my mouth. "I'm picturing your hand instead of mine." Her breathing turns into pants as she squeaks a little on the other end of the line. She has no idea how erotic this is to me.

"I've got my fingers in me. I'm rocking on the chair in my kitchen – you know the one you like to sit in? I'm imagining you're here." I can't help the groan that escapes my lips or the heavy way my breathing picks up. I pull my cock tightly, working myself closer to the teetering edge.

"More," I grunt, my fingers lightly brushing my balls before working back up to my wet tip.

"I'm going to cum listening to you get off." It's dirty the way she says it. I feel my balls pull up as my orgasm builds.

"Katniss," It's almost a cry as my hand moves swiftly over my flesh, gripping and sliding and bringing me so close.

"Cum for me, Haymitch."

And I do, my semen spurting out and coating my shirt in messy strands. I think I shouted somewhere in there, my breath struggling in my lungs. When I come back down I hear the phone is still live on the other end, I hear Katniss shouting out.

"Peeta!"

Wherever she is, she has the phone with her as she roams the house. I listen to her throw a door open and the clatter of the phone crash to the floor.

"What's wrong?" I hear the boy ask, his voice panicked.

"I need you to fuck me, right now."

The phone never goes dead.


	36. The Future War

War, Terrible War - Prompts in Panem Submission

* * *

><p>The great war of our time was not started by religion, by race, by ideologies that divided us.<p>

It was started by something minuscule, something you can't even see. It tore the seams of our social fabric, ripping us from everything we understood and lived by. Without even showing us its face.

The great war of our time was a result of two species interacting and creating a scenario that could not be controlled. When the racoon with the foaming mouth bit the man with the flu, nobody knew what was taking place. They say the nail in the coffin was that the man could not afford the medicines. That he kept selling his kills in the Hob in hopes that he could soon afford the syrup that would wet his tongue and lower the swelling in his arm.

But no amount of meat, no quart of berries, would get him close enough to affording the pills that could have saved us all.

The man was delirious in the end, his lips bloody and his body seizing as it tried to expel the choking red liquid that filled his lungs. His wife, the healer, could do nothing but watch as he fell before her. She was the first victim of his disease. Of the virus that killed half of Panem. She was Patient Zero.

And her daughter saved us all.

* * *

><p><em>Katniss.<em>

My body bolts upwards in bed as the sound of the horde awakens me. My skin is slick with sweat and had I not been in quarantine for the past week I'd have thought I was infected. But it was just a dream.

Just a nightmare. Her thinning frame, limbs being torn and devoured.

Pulling myself from the damp sheets I creep to the window and look down at the streets that are littered with the walking dead. Friends, neighbours, kids from the square - all shining in the glow of the moon. Beyond the brick I watch as another family home was invaded and the beasts take them alive. I was safe here, I knew it, but it wasn't enough. Watching the scene before me, the dread in my gut swelled.

Katniss was out there on duty, shooting the people - no, the infected - down with her bow. And I was up here hiding out, waiting for her to come home to me.

As the scene of brutality unfolded before me, I had no choice but to turn away. I couldn't watch the Cartwright's be pulled apart no more than I could bear the thought that this war was happening all around me and I was stuck here with a cold. I was useless to do anything but watch each night as Katniss stripped down out of her hunting jacket and worn winter flannels. As she woke to nightmares of her sister falling to her mother's infected bite.

In quarantine, I could do nothing but watch as she fought the battles without me.

* * *

><p>Weeks passed. It was a month before she finally came to the barred door of the attic and unlatched the lock. For a long time we stood there, staring at each other, before she stepped into my arms and held me as though she'd never let me go. We find each other that night. We don't dream that night. And when the horde swarmed the square and we watched as another safe room was found, Katniss crawled onto my lap and tucked her head against my chest. My strong warrior, falling apart in my arms. My strong warrior each day loading her bow and piercing another friendly face until her fingers bled and her replacement came.<p>

We both knew that night that it was only a matter of time before our safe house was raided.

We find each other twice that night.

* * *

><p>District 12 was barren of life. Haymitch Abernathy had moved the remaining survivors onto his land, an old house in the village, easily defendable from all angles. Katniss hated the man, but he kept us safe. Gale Hawthorne and his sister, young Posy, as well as Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter, and a handful of others were all within the house eating supper as Katniss walked the borders and I guarded from the porch. As I guarded her.<p>

"Has she told you yet?" Haymitch muttered from the darkness behind me. I was used to it now, the way he almost snuck up on you.

"Told me what?" I questioned quietly, my eyes never leaving Katniss shadow as she paced the fence. She hadn't slept well last night and my anxieties were high.

"That winter is coming." Haymitch returns.

"They freeze in the winter, I hear. Is it true?" He has half of my attention now. I hear him shift behind me.

"She seems to think so. She'd know best, she watched it happen to her mother. She's seen the way they shut down."

"Then that's when we strike. We escape. We run." Out in the distance, Katniss pauses and raises her bow. I tense as she watches the darkness, ready to run to her should she need it.

"You know that we wouldn't make it five miles. The trees are crawling with them. All we can do is keep fighting. Keep living." Katniss lowers her bow as Haymitch stops talking. We both relax.

"You think we need to pretend? That we need to act like we can move on?" I reply, slightly surprised at his proposition.

"I'm saying you need to make that girl see you. I know it's not an act for you. Make her live for something. Or else you'll both fall to this war." With that, Haymitch disappears back into the house and leaves me to watch over Katniss as she continues to pace.

Haymitch is right. I would give my life for this woman, but she barely sees me. I'm an end to a means, a need fulfilled. I try to stuff the feeling of a clawing ache back down and I return my focus to keeping her alive.

* * *

><p>"I love you." I whisper into her hair as we lay together that night. I feel her body stiffen slightly as her head shifts and I feel her eyes on me.<p>

"No, you don't." She replies quietly. I almost have to stifle a laugh.

"I do. I don't need you to feel it for me. I just needed you to know." My fingers crawl up her arm to where they play with her loose hair that's fallen from her braid. It's a long while before she speaks again, but it's sorrowful and sad.

"We're at war. There's no time to love me."

"You're wrong." It's simple to me. "Now is the best time to love. Now is the only time we have. It doesn't matter to me that we're in a war - I've loved you for so long. That's not going to stop just because of the infected." She flinches at my mention and pulls away.

"How can you say that? How can you say it's the best time when I have to shoot my neighbours down because they'll never get better? When I have to watch my sister die and my mother start it all." She sounds accosted by my words and my stomach clenches. Sitting up, I face her head on, my knees touching hers.

"This is the best time for exactly that reason. You need love because-" Her hand collides with my cheek as she interrupts my words. I refuse to move. We need to talk about this.

"Don't tell me what I need, Peeta Mellark." She hisses.

"Fine. _I _need to love you. _I _need you to know that I love you because I'm terrified that you'll get hurt and you won't remember what it feels like to be loved. _I need you to live_. Katniss, you aren't responsible. You didn't do this." My hands have taken her arms and I'm close to shaking her or pulling her close. But I do neither as she stares at my hands.

"I can't risk you." She says it so quietly that I barely hear it. But it kills me inside.

"You don't need to protect me, Katniss. Let me love you. That will be enough. We will survive this war. Together." I don't move. I feel like we're on a precipice and these few words we've spoken have moved us miles forward. Or backwards.

"Together? You'll stay with me?" My arms wrap around her and press her body to mine.

"Always. Always." I repeat into her hair, my breathing heavy as I feel her crawl against me.

We make love first time that night.

* * *

><p>The war rages on. We move, District to District. We fight. It seems unending. It's years before there's a light at the end of the tunnel. It comes in the rounding of her belly and the peace of the desolate forest we settle in. She never gives in, not once. She fights and becomes the symbol of survival.<p>

It's been twenty-one months since we saw our last infected. We have more help now to protect ourselves in the safety of what was once District 13. More fighters, more watchers. More life.

There's a hope now, that we will see the end.

But for now, we keep fighting, we keep living. We keep loving. Because the war isn't yet over.


	37. It Happens in the Night

Prompt: Horror, from Prompts in Panem.

* * *

><p>It happens in the night. It's the darkest night I've ever seen, the clouds hanging low and the thick air pressing in through the small window in the kitchen. Father's gone.<p>

_Father's gone_.

The thought makes my innards curl and my empty stomach turn the bile into my throat.

I should have been there that day in the forest. When father got the bite from that stupid coon. I should have been there to shoot it dead and to stop all of this from happening. But I'd had to be sick that day. I'd given him the flu when I got it from school. I'd come home and I'd made father sick and then I couldn't protect him when I should have. It was all my fault. All of it.

And now mother's sick too.

_Mother's sick_.

I can hear her coughing down the hallway. Prim's trying to heal her, using everything she's learned from mother over the years. I didn't have the heart to tell her I didn't think mother would make it. Not even Hazelle Hawthorne had been able to sooth her broken and bloody lips with mother's herbal balm. She'd left with her hands coated in the blood from mother's cough, apologizing for not being able to help.

I'd stayed clear because it was all my fault. Because father had gotten sick, and now mother, and I couldn't protect either of them.

Sitting at the table I began to count our coins over and over again. I was there for hours, measuring our household goods up for what they would sell at the Hob tomorrow, when the knock came at the door and my body froze.

The Community House. They must have come for Prim and I. They would come this soon, especially with father leaving us so publicly. My heart raced as I tucked all of the coin into my trousers and shuffled towards the door, all sixteen years of my happy life flickering before my mind's eye.

But it wasn't the Community House coming to take us. Peeta Mellark stood on our doorstep, his hands outstretched with a fistful of pills and his face pale in the moonlight.

"I heard your mother was sick. You need these." He stated quickly, abruptly.

"I can't-" I started, stepping back from the door and getting ready to close it. I barely knew this boy from school and here he was shoving expensive pills at me and trying to have pity on me.

"_Katniss_," He urged and grabbed at one of my hands, pulling it forward to dump the pills into my palm. "Please. Use them. You need them." Looking into his eyes, he looked almost desperate. I couldn't refuse him, not this boy who was now for the second time offering to save my life. We'd barely spoken a word since the day he gave me the bread.

He didn't stick around long. After closing my palm over the medicine and holding my hand in both of his for a moment, he stepped back and nodded silently before stepping down off our porch.

"Peeta," He was almost gone now but he stopped. Turning around, my heart seized at the look on his face. "Thank you." I whispered. He nodded again but we still continued to stare at each other, the silence creeping over us. It wasn't until another hacking cough and a startled cry from Prim echoed throughout the house that my attention turned inward.

The scream that followed made my blood run cold.

Bolting from the door I swept through the small living room and into the bedroom in the back where my mother was resting. The sight stopped me up short. Bed sheets, pillows, blankets – all covered in blood and a thin mucus that shined a pale pink. My eyes landed on Prim who gripped her left palm in her right hand, staring at me wide eyed from her place by the bed.

"Katniss!" The voice reverberated from two locations and I swung away from Prim to see Peeta standing behind me, his tall frame shadowing mine as he looked into the room as well. "_Oh god_." It was under his breath but I still heard it.

"What happened?" I shouted and moved into the room tentatively; staring at the mess and the vacant form that now occupied the bed. Mother was unmoving, her small body curled into itself, her skin translucent.

"She _bit_ me. I was wetting her forehead, trying to reduce her fever, when she grabbed my hand." Prim cried, her voice frantic. She was still unmoving from her spot on the floor, staring at the bed as though it was a trap. "She's not breathing now Katniss. _She's not breathing_!"

My gut clenched. My stomach turned. This was it. Mother was gone too. She wasn't sick anymore, she was gone. My knees were weak; my heart beat thundered in my ears. _Oh no_.

"Katniss," Peeta called hesitantly from the doorway, his voice warning. I looked towards him quickly, away from my sister for just a minute, but for long enough that my mother crawled to her knees and lunged towards Prim. The scream filled the room and I turned back, watching as my mother's hand scratched down Prim's face and tore her flesh.

I stood, watching it happen in slow motion, as my mother attacked my sister. My _dead_ mother. It was only when Peeta ran into the room and took mother by the shoulders, pulling her off Prim, that I finally came back to my senses. Lurching from the room, I grabbed my bow from where it sat in the kitchen and returned to the bedroom, pulling the nock against the string and raising it.

The sight before me was madness. Peeta stood in the room, his arms locked in a wrestler's restraint around my mother's shoulders, her body pulled flush against his as he fought to maintain control. Across the room, Prim was adding her blood to the mess on the bed, her beautiful face dripping from the scratch marks and her hand swollen red and bright where mother's teeth had bit down.

"Katniss, I can't stop her for much longer!" Peeta shouted as mother thrashed in his grip. Swinging my target from Prim to mother, I stared for a moment too long. "Aghh!" Peeta screamed as he stumbled back into the wall. Mother had gotten loose, her hands outstretched towards me and her eyes blood shot and rabid. The blood from her cough had been replaced by foamy pink ooze, spilling from her lips as she moved towards me.

The room wasn't big enough. My arrow lodged in her throat. She couldn't scream. She couldn't bite. Her jaw was locked open and the shaft of the arrow was visible down her gullet.

But _she kept moving_.

Stumbling back into the hall, I tripped and landed hard on my back, my bow scattering down the hallway. It was another second before mother was at the door to the room, her deformed face and jaw garish in the dim lighting. I couldn't equate what I'd done to this body with the mother I'd once known. I couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but watch as she lurched towards me, her hands outstretched and her bloody fingers curling towards me.

It was the sound that pulled me back. The low gurgle in the throat that sounded of choking and groaning.

"Mommy!" I heard Prim scream from the room. My chest tightened.

"Katniss, get up!" Peeta was in the doorway now; I could see him over mother's shoulder as he stumbled trying to grip the wall. He wasn't steady on his feet, he couldn't help me. "Get UP!" He screamed and there was a new level of desperation in his voice that brought me back to my senses and forced me away, scuttling down the hallway and to my bow.

My second shot was clean, straight into her bloody eye. Just like the squirrels. Just like what I should have done to the coon.

It took the time for my mother's body to collapse and for the viscous pink to sink into the floor before I could breathe again.

"Katniss!" Prim. Her screams never stopped. Adrenaline pulled me to the room, pushing past Peeta and taking my sister in my arms. "What's _wrong with her_?" The girl screamed in my arms. She was in shock. I was in shock.

"She was sick. Just sick." I repeated, desperately hoping it was over. I'd take the Community House now. I'd take anywhere that didn't make me look at what was out in the hallway.

"Am _I going to get sick_?" Her words stopped my hands from rubbing her back. Stopped my blood from pulsing. Stopped my heart from beating.

Prim. My life. I couldn't lose her too. I couldn't.

"No, Little Duck. Everything's alright." I cooed, forcing my hand to resume its soothing gesture.

"She _bit_ me! I've got her blood all over me! I've been with her for hours! Katniss, _I'm going to get sick_!" Panic was lacing her voice as she screamed in my arms, her small body quaking with sobs.

"No. No you won't. I promise. I promise Prim." I squeezed her tighter to my body as I felt the hand on my back, silently offering comfort. I'd almost forgotten he was here. "Go home, Peeta." I croaked, rocking my body slightly to calm my nerves.

"I'm not leaving you." Peeta replied steadily. I felt the bed shift below my knees as he sat next to me, his hand never moving from its place between my shoulder blades.

* * *

><p>I woke up to Prim coughing, her body shaking against mine as the fever overtook her. Peeta was at my back, having lain down behind me on the stripped bare bed. The feeling of dread nearly pulled me under as I held my sister in my arms.<p>

_Prim is sick_.

"I don't want to go yet Katniss." Prim cried in between bouts of coughing. Every word tore at me. I refused to move. I couldn't.

"You're not going anywhere Prim. I won't let you." I whispered into her hair. Peeta's arm tightened around me. He was awake.

Hours passed. Prim's skin grew warmer. The blood came then, spattering from her lips. She was done crying now. When her left eye burst its first vessel, Peeta flinched. I cried. Prim pushed.

"You have to go!" She shouts and forces her hands into my chest. She's trying to put space between us but I won't allow it. "Katniss! You saw what happens. Please. _Please_. Go. Get out!" She shouts and cries and moans as her body is wracked with coughs.

I don't even see it coming when Prim escapes from the bed and bolts from the room. My body tries to follow but Peeta has me pulled against him, his arms unmoving as he quietly repeats to let her go. I realize then that _I'm_ the one crying.

"She can't leave me! Take me instead!" I scream viciously as my hands claw at his grip. He never, not once, lets go as we hear the door slam open and the coughing disappear into the night.

* * *

><p>Peeta never leaves my side. That is until he gets sick. He locks himself in the attic, tossing me the key and telling me that he won't come out until he's better.<p>

I don't want to think about the _if_. I've already lost everyone else I love. I won't lose him too – he holds me together.

But I can't watch either. Instead I disappear into the tree line, setting up a rotation with Gale (whose mother has also gotten sick), to kill what we now call the 'infected'. Those who were sick but died and now are back. Every day I spend my hours perched in a tree, shooting down my neighbours and watching the blood spurt from their wounds. I watch as they disintegrate as the days pass. As the wild dogs tear them apart and then become infected themselves.

I never see Prim again. It's better this way I have to think.

But every day I witness the horrors of this war. I kill and maim and destroy. When Peeta is better, he almost asks me why I do it. He never really does, but if he were to, my answer would be easy.

I do it because it's all my fault. And because he's all I have left worth fighting for.


	38. Wasted Time

Prompt: What if...?, Prompts in Panem R2D7

* * *

><p>"Katniss, stop it." I grumble, rolling over in bed and looking at her as she pulls open another drawer. We leave tomorrow on the mission we've been training years for, the mission that should destroy the Capitol's own inward annihilation.<p>

"I need to do something. I can't sleep," She hisses at me. I sigh and swing my feet to the floor, shifting until I'm leaning on my knees with my face in my hands. She always gets like this - antsy and feisty - before a mission.

I've known Katniss since I was five. She stood up in our ratty auditorium to sing the Valley Song after our teacher asked for volunteers. To put it mildly, I've watched after her every day since that moment. But I wasted a lot of time watching. It took her joining the Rebellion movement for me to wake up and realize that I had to do something before she disappeared from my life.

That was five years ago.

"What you _need_ is to get some sleep. You won't be a help to anyone on the team if you're passed out in the Nest." I insist, referencing her post in the Nest, our planned sniper spot to assassinate Coriolanus Snow. Across the room, Katniss pauses, her hand clutched around a pair of balled up socks. I take the opportunity to strike, appealing to her responsible side, "You're our key ingredient, remember? We need you to make the shot. Otherwise he's going to keep producing the Games and Capitol kids are still going to be slaughtered every year."

Ever since the war of the Dark Days, there has always been a division in the nation of Panem. After the war, the victorious outlying Districts joined together under District 13's leadership, excelling in their mutual partnerships, while the defeated Capitol, having been bombed heavily, existed in squalor. It was a few decades ago, before I was even born, that Coriolanus Snow appeared in the Capitol and sold the Districts on a repayment game – he would provide an annual event of sacrifice to the Districts in return for the caged citizens of the Capitol to be allowed to expand into the Districts and out of their nuclear wasteland.

Initially, the trade had seemed fair. Districts would reap the benefit of receiving constant retribution and the Capitol people could rejoin society. But then the Games (aptly titled the Hunger Games as a tribute to the thirst for vengeance) became more brazen, more vicious and cruel. The Games went from being symbolic gestures to something blood thirsty. The age limit lowered, children were selected, the age limit was capped, and the atrocities became tenfold. All the while the Districts consumed, feasting on the violence that was packaged for them every year.

That is until Snow made the argument that 'Capitol citizens' referred to any child born of Capitol blood. The Games then included all District children conceived from District-Capitol unions.

Children like Primrose Everdeen, Katniss' sister who was Reaped in her second year of eligibility. Katniss could do nothing to stop it – she was District born through and through and no matter how hard she screamed, no matter how hard she clawed at the Peacekeepers who performed the containment of the randomly selected Tributes, she could not take her sister's place in the Arena.

And so when her sister's body came home in a casket, I watched as she walked to the Hob and joined the underground movement of the Rebellion. I joined soon after and while I claim I did it out of a sense of justice, I'd be lying if I denied I did it to protect her.

The Rebellion was formed in District 12, our home District, not long after the Games were created. It was first conceived by a group of District citizens who believed that to move forward all of Panem would have to unite. They argued in favour of unity, not repayment, and the Games were their catalyst for war. For decades they've been working on undermining the District and Capitol governments through a network of spies and rebels but no plan has been as integrated as the dual assassination of President Coin, leader of the Districts, and Coriolanus Snow, producer of the Games. And now it's the night before that plan is enacted, the one that could return peace to the nation, and our key player won't sleep.

"I know." It's all she says as she slumps her shoulders, replacing the socks and turning back to me with a scowl on her lips. "I know I need to sleep. But I can't, not with you right there."

Her words catch me off guard and I'm left spinning. I'll admit, this is the first time we've shared a private room in all the time that we've been assigned to the same team, hell, even since I've known her. We didn't start out this way – in fact, it had taken me six months to get into the Rebellion, two years to get assigned to her team, and another fifteen months before she'd even talk to me without a scathing remark to follow it up. Not to mention the fact that we rarely had private rooms in camp – usually the whole team slept together in one large bunker.

But tonight was different. Gale Hawthorne, our team lead, had assigned his group into their pairs as a last ditch effort to solidify team synchronicity. And of course, being Katniss' spotter, we ended up sharing a room.

"You sleep near me all the time Katniss, this isn't any different." I say quietly as I get to my feet. I'm standing in front of her, my palms itching to take hold of her hands and comfort her, but I know that I can't. Not today. Not with that look on her face.

"This _is_ different, Peeta. This could be the last time." I watch her hands smooth the socks out back into the drawer. "I don't want to waste the last time." She whispers it so quietly that I almost don't hear it above the hum of the fluorescent light above us.

My heart seems to stop in my chest at her words. The last time for what? Clearly I must be imagining it. Katniss Everdeen has not once in all the time I've known her, in all the time we've spent alone in the Nest preparing, made any move that could be classified as a reciprocation of my well disguised affections. If fact, I'd argue that she goes out of her way to discourage any attention from anyone because if there's one thing I know about her, it's that the mission comes first.

That her sister's memory comes first.

That's why when I close the drawer between us with a quiet click I'm not so much prepared for her pushing me into the wall as I am for her lips to find mine in a fierce kiss that leaves my body thrumming.

And it doesn't stop. Pressed up against the wall, I feel Katniss' fingers pulling at the hem of my t-shirt, lifting it and tearing if from my body. Her hands follow the line of my sternum, scratching lightly down into the trail of hair that leads to my boxers. My now well _tented_ boxers.

But even though it feels good – fantastic even – it doesn't feel right. I can't take advantage of her like this. Not now. Not tonight.

"Katniss," I hiss as her lips find my neck. "Katniss, _wait_," I try again and lift my hands to her shoulders, forcing distance between us and a shocked expression onto her face.

"What?" She gasps, her hands on her hips as she huffs for breath.

"We can't do this." I try and she laughs. She laughs and she pulls at the tie to her braid and lets loose her long dark hair that I've longed to run my fingers through since it was in two braids and not one.

"I've never wanted anything more in my life than this moment right now," Katniss claims as she lifts the hem of her shirt over her head and exposes her sports bra and thin frame. I gulp. "Don't tell me you don't want this. Don't say it's not a good time," Her hands are at her waist now, pulling the tie that holds her sleep shorts on her hips. "Now is the only time we might have and I refuse to waste it. I want you, Peeta Mellark. Now take off your goddamn shorts."

She's standing before me, bare as the day she was born, her hands commandingly placed on her hips as her loose hair covers her breast. She's smiling, a bright, toothy grin that I've only ever seen a few times in all the times I've known her. I was always the reason for those smiles.

My boxers drop to the ground and she crashes into me again, moving us away from the wall and towards the bunks on the other side of the room. We stagger backwards until my knees hit the lower bunk and I collapse down as her body covers mine. Her lips slip from mine again as her hands slide against my skin. Her fingers curl into my hair and she pulls gently when her teeth find my earlobe. I can't stop the moan that escapes me as her legs straddle my thigh and she rubs herself against me.

"Oh fuck," I hiss when her left hand slips down and grips me firmly, her movements precise. Her wet core slides against my leg, eliciting a soft panting groan from her own lips. Encouraged by the sound and trying to play fair, I palm her breast and pull at her hardened nipple. She keens at my motions and presses more firmly against me, her hand squeezing and moving on my cock.

I am delirious. I am overwhelmed.

"I want you." She moans, her lips playing at my chest.

"You have me. You've always had me." I groan in return and sit up, bringing her with me. I hold her at an arm's length for just a moment, recapturing my breath as my gaze meets hers. Grey on blue, lust on desire. I want to tell her I love her. That I'll always love her. But it'll scare her off. She'll bolt and I'll never-

"I love you," She blurts. The hand that was stroking me ceases and instead flies to cover her lips, her shocked expression half hidden behind her hand. At first, my breath catches in my chest. And then I smile, a big foolish boyish smile.

Instead of saying 'I've waited forever to hear you say it' I can only respond with one thing: "I love you, too."

My smile is mirrored when she drops her hand from her lips. I waste no time in lunging forward to capture her mouth with mine, my tongue finding hers and my hands tangling in her hair. Her hips return to rocking against my leg as her hand once again finds my length, dragging across its tip achingly slow. Two can play at this game, I think, and drop my fingers to her core, slipping and rubbing slow circles around her bud of nerves.

I can feel her body tense and release as my fingers continue their assault, pulling moans from her lips. She doesn't hold back when she slips to her knees before me and pulls my length into her mouth, her eyes staring me down as she sucks me off. I forget how to breathe and resort to guttural grunts and panting as she pulls me in deeper, her tongue following the swollen veins. I can feel my hips jutting up, desperate to find release, before I pull her off and up to me.

I'm kneeling on the bed as she crawls up to join me. Wrapping her legs around my waist she guides me into her heat and we both nearly lose ourselves in the feeling. All fears, all nerves, all anxieties about tomorrow slip away as she lifts and lowers herself on me. Resting my head on her shoulder I watch in fascination as I disappear in and out of her and we slowly become one.

"Fuck Katniss," I grunt. Her only response is her teeth biting my neck.

It's slow at first, the way she rocks against me, but then I can't take the slick pressure of her around me and I thrust up into her. She takes the hint and soon we're panting as our sweat slicked bodies collide in frenzied movements. I can feel myself nearly the edge and I want her there with me. My fingers once again find her bundle of nerves and I can hear her getting close with me.

"Come for me." I whisper and increase the movements of my hips.

The moment when she cries out, when her nails dig into my shoulders and her walls clench around me, I finally let go, pushing myself deeper and losing myself in her body.

We collapse together on the bed, our muscles jelly and our bodies cooling in the cold air of the room. My hand grips her hip to keep us close and I listen to the sounds of our scattered breathing.

"That was," I start, sucking down air and rolling until she's tucked close to me.

"Amazing." She finishes for me. I can hear the smile in her voice. "Why did we waste so much time?" She asks after another moment filled with only the sounds of our slowly steadying breaths.

"I didn't think you even knew I existed, apart from as your spotter." I answer honestly. I feel her shiver next to me and I pull the blankets up, covering us, protecting us.

"I've wanted this for so long, but I was waiting for you to make the move. I didn't think you felt the same and I didn't want to lose my partner. It was stupid of me."

"It doesn't matter now." I insist and tuck my head so that I can breathe in her scent. The same scent of pine and fresh grass that's haunted my dreams for years. "Tomorrow we'll do what we have to do, and then we'll be free."

"And then we'll be at war," She corrects and turns until we're nose to nose. I nod, knowing that it's the likely outcome of what will happen next.

"We'll be alright. I won't waste anymore time. I promise." We lay together there in silence until our bodies cool and our heart beats return to normal. I find my arms wrapped around her, her small body tucked against my chest and our legs intertwined, as we begin to doze off.

"Stay with me?" I'm nearly asleep when she asks me quietly. My heart flip flops in my chest at the quietly vulnerability in her words.

"Always." I affirm and pull her even closer.


	39. Comfortable Audio

_This PwP (yes, it's a PwP) has been brought to you by: jetlag, drunken Korean brainstorming, spawned audio enjoyment, and because I fucking can._

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><p>She never would have let me put it on film. That would have been far too intrusive, too reminiscent of our history and the horrors that fill our nightmares. No, it would have been too much, for both of us, I'm sure of it. But I couldn't get the idea out of my head after my first trip to the Capitol.<p>

That's where this had all started. I'd gone back because for too many days out of the week I was beginning to be bogged down by headaches that kept me in bed or pushed me towards relapses of my episodes. It was becoming unbearable for both of us and though I hadn't wanted to go, I'd seen no other option. Dr Aurelius had summoned me back at once when I'd told him and he'd even threatened to send someone to collect me if I didn't get on the first train back.

At the time, Katniss hadn't taken it well. Not at all. She couldn't come with me – not with her exile still in place. So she'd tried to lock us in the bedroom we shared and wrapped herself around me until I'd missed the first three trains. Hell, I probably never would have gone if Haymitch hadn't burst into the room and dragged me into the hallway and away from her. He'd packed a bag for me and taken me to the station with promises that he'd watch over her until I got back.

It had been the longest two weeks of my life. Despite the glory that the Capitol once was, after the war everything had changed. Phone lines were broken or barely working unless through special lines, especially with District 12, and communication within the hospital was minimal at best. Aurelius was particularly difficult too, refusing to let me contact Katniss until he could determine the root of the stress that was making my head burst. But he did keep me updated by way of Haymitch who reassured us that he was keeping her kicking and screaming.

At night I'd try to imagine her near me, next to me, her breaths on my neck soothing me to sleep, but it was hopeless. I'd grow weary and distracted by the click of a nurses shoes or the beeping of machines that filled my room. After the hours of testing I was put through it was even worse. All I wanted was Katniss by my side, holding me close through the skull crushing pain that raked through me.

When finally Aurelius had determined that it was a combination of stress and resulting blood pressure as a lasting effect of my torture, he loaded me down with pills and sent me on my way home with a notice to return for a month long testing period in a few weeks.

I'd dreaded that return to the Capitol more than anything else in my life. I'd been consumed by the thought of it since my return; often lying with Katniss sprawled across my chest as I brainstormed ways to minimize the constant loneliness that overwhelmed me while I was in the Capitol.

I would miss her smell. The way her hair felt as it tickled my chest. Her mewls and sweet moans at my touch. I'd miss the way we'd find solace in each other after a day apart.

Every bone in my body would ache with missing her and my hand just wouldn't be enough. Nothing would be enough on those days where I couldn't hear her voice.

And that's when it had come to me. It had taken a few days to figure out the best time to ask. To predict the best mood she'd have to be in to say yes. I was asking for the moon from her, I knew without a doubt. But I couldn't _not_ ask.

"Should we get breakfast now or...?" I prompted, my fingers running across her bare spine. Though her legs were tangled with mine, she was sprawled until her head nearly hung off the side of the bed, a result of the past bout of our time together.

Chuckling, she turned her face until her gaze met mine. "What, you didn't get enough to eat?" She joked coyly. I smiled lazily and shifted until our faces were aligned on the edge of the bed.

"Oh, well, if you'd like more, I'd be more than happy to oblige but you seem pretty worn out." Laughing she sat up and rolled me onto my back until she was straddling me and leaning down with a grin on her lips. Taking my hands in hers, she pulled them over my head and lifted back when I attempted to press a kiss to her lips.

"Ah, ah, Mr Mellark, we're going to get breakfast," She laughed and slipped her body downwards until her face was aligned with my hips. It didn't take long until I was ready for the touch of her fingers that caressed me. Slowly, carefully, she ran her nails along the hair that led from my stomach downwards. I could barely get in enough air, my chest rising and falling in quiet excitement as her lips trailed after her fingers. "Let me just have this appetizer and then we'll get some real breakfast – how does that sound Mr Mellark?"

She loved calling me that. Echoing the customers in the bakery as they addressed me. I think she liked the power play of it all. Sometimes I minded, but right now? I didn't care, not as her mouth surrounded me and I had to bite into my knuckle, struggling not to groan too loudly. When she looked up and saw what I was doing she stopped her ministrations and grabbed my hand from my lips.

"I want to hear you come," She rasped and placed open mouth kisses as she sank back down to my cock.

It was after, when we were both sated, that I somehow pulled out the question and finally asked.

"You want to _what_?" She responded quietly. Though her voice didn't sound appalled, I knew what I was asking for was sure to create some level of tension for her. That's just how Katniss is sometimes and I love her for it.

"I want to record us. On tape. For when I go to the Capitol." I replied carefully and turned to watch as she stared at the ceiling. Her brow was furrowed but she didn't look angry. I figured that was a good sign and continued on. "When I'm there, I can't call you. I can't hear your voice or even remember the best things about you. It's torture being away from you."

She was silent for another moment as she considered. "Why _that_ though?" Turning abruptly, she rested her head on her hand and looked down at me, biting her lip.

"Because you're my medicine. You're my cure. You keep me sane. When I hear the sounds you make and know that it's because of me – there's no greater feeling that I ever get. I could drown in the sound of you, Katniss," Reaching up one hand I draw my finger across her cheekbone and run it down to her chin, gently pulling her lip free. "I love you and I don't want to be away from you. But I don't have a choice – so let me take this with me. Let me just take a piece of what we have with me."

It was silent for a while, the only sound that was in the room was that of our steady breathing as we both rolled over onto our backs and linked our fingers together. I didn't push it any further – I had said my piece. All I could hope for is that maybe she'd come around.

And if not, well, I could handle another few lonely weeks. Couldn't I?

* * *

><p>Time seems to fly. With every day that gets closer to my departure my anxiety seems to rise a little more. I take the last few days off from the bakery because I can't bear the thought of missing any more time from Katniss. She doesn't go out to hunt those days.<p>

Instead we spend the time together: cooking, reading, sleeping. Sometimes we don't make it even into the bedroom before somehow managing to find our way to a surface where we can press our bodies together and get lost. I cherish every moment of it all as I press kisses to her skin.

It's on the last night that I'm lying in bed, listening to the pipes shudder in the walls as the water from the shower is turned off. I hear the towel rack roll as she snaps the linen free, just as she always does, and opens the bathroom door. When she doesn't come straight into our room, I sit up and watch the door, concerned that something is wrong. I know today is hard for her – it's the same for me – but I couldn't stand it if she withdrew into herself today.

_Not today_.

I give it another minute before I hear her steps returning to our room from down the hall. Curious, I shift until I'm sitting with my legs over the edge of the bed and staring at the door with a small smile.

"Oh!" She nearly jumps at the sight of me watching her when she comes through the door. I know she's on edge simply from the way the skin of her neck and the tips of her ears redden.

"Come here," I request and try not to let my voice crack. She looks gorgeous with the towel wrapped around her and her wet hair resting over her right shoulder. She hesitates, just for a moment, before she steps closer."What took you so long?" I whisper as my lips find her collarbone and slink up to her jaw, the breath rattles in her chest and she steps forward until her knees are in between my spread legs.

"Sorry – had to check something." Her reply is stuttered by my teeth pulling her lip to me as she gasps.

It doesn't take long for my hands to slip the towel from her body and expose her skin to the chill night air. The sound of her intake of breath only causes my shorts to grow tighter.

"Close your eyes," She whispers. I obey, letting my hands find her hips and hold her steady. Feeling her body shift slightly I'm tempted to peek at what she's doing but I don't get the chance, not as she pushes me back onto the mattress and runs her chin up the fabric of my boxers until her breath is slipping through the fabric.

I don't dare open my eyes as her hand slides up my leg and ghosts over my cock, grazing it ever so slightly. My chest tightens as I gasp at the air, desperately trying to keep it together.

"I want to hear you tonight. Don't hold back." Her breath tickles the hair at my ear and I wonder how she soundlessly moves around me. Her hand still hovers over my shorts, her fingers gripping my length and tugging gently with every hot breath on my neck.

"Yes." It's all I can manage as my breathing catches and a small groan escapes from me while her fingers find the opening to my boxers and let me loose. Her small hand grasps my cock and she strokes me tightly forcing my eyes to squeeze shut which only seems to enhance the feeling of her jerking me off. A string of profanities fall from my lips as the muscles in my stomach coil to the feel of her tongue moving across my chest. "Yes, _yes_. Katniss, Christ, keep touching me." The words fall from my mouth and my hips jut into her hand.

She stays almost completely silent apart from the sound of her wet mouth sucking its way down my chest. I can feel her hand swivelling and constricting, just the way she knows I like it. It's not long before I can feel my balls begin to tighten. "Fuck, _Katniss_, dammit. I'm close, keep –" But my words stop pouring from me as her one hand moves to gently pull at my balls and the other presses to the base of my cock. Though I remain hard, the edge that I was climbing to seems to slip away and I shudder.

Opening my eyes, daring to see what she's doing while I mentally calm down, I meet her grey gaze and she laughs lightly.

"Glad to know this works," She words and moves her hands to fully remove my boxers from my hips. Kicking the fabric free, I move myself further onto the bed and pull her with me until we're lying astride one another. My body is still thrumming and standing at attention as I watch her lick her lips.

"What are you doing to me?" I wonder aloud and she smiles a small, devious smile. When she doesn't answer, I take the lead and push her onto her back and waste no time before I move down her body and place her legs over my shoulders. I don't dive in like I want to – instead I let my small panting breaths cool her heated flesh before dipping one finger inside. She's hot and slick and mewling from above me. I can feel her heels digging into my shoulder blades, urging my face closer to the apex at her thighs.

I take the hint and run my tongue up flat against her slit, delving in at the top to flick her nub. The moan and the way her hips buck against me has my body reacting again immediately and I don't hesitate any longer.

Slipping my fingers inside, I move them in steady strokes along with my mouth on her center. Every so often I'll curl a finger upwards and stroke her from the inside – I'm rewarded each time with a yelp of pleasure and the feel of her fingers grappling in my hair.

"Peeta, _Peeta_," She hisses my name through her teeth and I take her urgency as a sign to slip another finger inside. "More. I want – _need_ – more. Please, _please Peeta._" Looking up from where my head is dipped between her thighs I watch as her chest rises and falls with every gasp, with every moan that charges me up. _These_ are the sounds that drive me crazy – that remind me of how this is right.

Inside, I feel her body clenching and I slide my fingers out and sit back on my knees. The sudden lack of contact and the delay of her obviously nearing orgasm seems to startle her and she groans before leaning up on her elbows with her legs spread before me.

"I guess I deserved that," She sighs and I look up from where I'm mesmerized by the slick sight of her.

"Hmm?" Is all I can respond with and she laughs and shifts her body invitingly.

"Come on, Peeta, just let go with me." Her voice is nearly a whisper as she slides her fingers down and rubs at her core. The sight of it mixed with the moans she elicits put me into hyper drive as my body thrums to her sounds. "I want you, right here," She whispers and slips a finger inside herself. I watch as her body reacts to her own ministrations and I can't take it anymore.

Lurching forward, I pull her hands loose and anchor them over her head with one of mine. My other hand slips to my cock and I rub the tip against her folds teasingly until she bucks against me.

"_Fuck_ me, Peeta." Her hips rock up to mine and I slide home until I'm flush in her heat. It feels like heaven as her body pulses around me. I stay there, for just a moment, enjoying the feel of her as my teeth pull a nipple between my lips. Her soft moans soon turn to frustrated sighs as her hips try to force mine into motion but I refuse, taking my time and drawing her higher with every lick and every touch.

When finally I begin to move, I relish in the sound of it, the way our bodies slide together and her gasps turn into pants. "You feel – _jesus_ _Katniss_ – you," I can't form sentences for the way her muscles pull me in with every thrust. It's like she's trying to pull me over the edge and I'm climbing too fast.

Every breath in my chest seems to constrict and just before I let go I slip out and mimic what she did earlier, attempting desperately to duplicate her delay of my orgasm. It works again and I can feel how badly my body wants release – so much so that I'm starting to hurt. She must see it too because without stopping her ministrations on herself, she rolls to her knees and shifts forward onto her arms.

"I want you – Peeta – just –" Her words, muffled into the pillow, are cut short by my quick thrust into her, pushing her slightly up the bed. I can't stop now – the feel of her, the sound of our skin meeting and her mewling cries – they all push me faster towards that edge and I'm running towards it blindly. It doesn't take long before she's crying out and I can feel her around me, pulsing and slipping and pulling me in until I let out a guttural noise and collapse onto her back with my arms barely holding me up.

Together we collapse, spent and slick with sweat, onto our sides. I slip free of her heat and press kisses along her shoulder as my leg and arms wrap around her, holding her impossibly close. I never want to leave her. I can't.

It's then I realize that I'm murmuring on repeat the simple phrase, "_I'll love you forever, for always"_ and that's she's kissing my palm with such aching tenderness that I feel like I'll die without her.

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><p>The goodbye is horrible. The train ride away from District 12 is worse. The balm on my open wound only seems to be salved when I open my bag in my room in the Capitol to find a beat up headset attached to a tape player. Sitting heavily on the edge of my bed, I slip the headphones on and press the play button. It's silent but for the hum of the audio recording the quiet.<p>

And then I hear a door open. And a startled '_Oh_'. And I know exactly what I'm listening to.

Smiling to myself, I sink back onto the bed and listen to the sounds as I slip my hand down and find comfort for myself when I'm too far from home.


	40. Perfectly Fine

_AN: Pure PwP for the Dirty December Week 2 over on Tumblr. Don't judge me too hard for this one, it needed a kick of kink._

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><p>Katniss was a lot different after her father died. She didn't grow up like she wanted. Hell, she grew up the exact opposite way of everything that her father had taught her.<p>

It wasn't a bad thing, necessarily. She just knew what she wanted and to hell with the rest of them.

That was her motto, at least. It worked okay for now. It kept her and her family from starving. It got her Peeta-fucking-Mellark.

It let her _find _Peeta Mellark. The one thing in this world, apart from her sister, that she didn't think she could live without.

But she also knew she had a lot of other wants. That's why she frequented the Slag Heap with Gale. Or messed around with Madge on her plush mattress. It didn't make her a bad person – not at all. It made her open, honest and true to herself no matter what. Plus, Peeta knew.

Peeta didn't mind. He loved her and she loved him and that was that.

That's how it was always going to be.

Until, at least, she partook in old Haymitch's bottle of white liquor that she'd stolen off the old man's kitchen table.

It had all been a game at first. All the kids from school getting together to have a bonfire in the meadow. She'd been in charge of drinks, stealing away liquor from their parents and friends so that everyone could imbibe without worry of getting caught.

Katniss didn't care if she got caught. She had nothing to lose.

The group had steadily gotten bigger as the night progressed, the crowd rustling around the flickering flames while little off-shoots of people began to drink and converse in their little social circles. Katniss was halfway through the burning liquid - having downed at least a quarter by herself - before Gale, Madge and Delly had shown up.

"Where's Peets?" She laughed just as Delly sat heavily down next to her. Katniss couldn't lie – she needed it. Needed Peeta before her blood boiled over.

"He's coming – had to deal with his Mum first," Delly replies, casually grabbing the bottle from her hand. She doesn't really mind, her buzz is a pleasant hum already and she wants to keep a clear enough head to get some.

Looking across the field, Katniss let's herself sway to the sound of a distant beat. The sound fills her, coating her insides, while her feet tap. Next to her, Gale and Madge huddle together and whisper frantically. Katniss almost laughs at the sight, knowing that both of them are in for a surprise with each other tonight.

She almost misses it while she's distracted by the couple's actions next to her. But it's the shock of blonde hair, unruly in the night's cool breeze, which captures her attention and has her licking her lips.

"Gale!" Katniss yells, sticking her hand in between the fawning couple and pulling at his tie. "I need this!" She blurts and pulls on the knot around her friend's neck. To be honest, she's not even sure why he's wearing it, but she knows that she needs it. It's going to work ever so well in her favour.

When the thick scrap of fabric has finally come loose – much to a sputtering and confused Gale's dismay – Katniss lifts to her feet and wobbles slightly. Scanning the crowd, she focuses back in on the familiar hair and where he sits surrounded by a group of kids she doesn't quite know.

That doesn't stop her. Not when she steps up behind him and uses the tie to blindfold him.

"You smell good, Mellark," She whispers, crouching down behind his warm body on the log. She listens for the harsh intake of breath before her fingers find his face and she matches her lips to his. It's familiar and fast, streaking through her blood like a fire catching on oil. When the kiss breaks, she rests her hand on his thigh and squeezes while her cheek finds his shoulder. "I bet you're wondering why you're wearing this," She hisses into his ear. There's a catch in his breathing as her fingers run along his leg. "I thought tonight we could have an adventure."

Lifting back up, she drags her hand along his chest until it hitches in his collar. She grips and pulls, leading him off into the shadows and away from the open gaze of the people. Her blood is buzzing, whether from the alcohol or the thrill, she doesn't quite know. All she knows is that tonight, tonight she's _very_ fucking happy she wore a skirt.

"Just over here," She whispers secretively as they step into a dark alley. Wasting no time, her mouth collides with his in a fierce kiss. Tongue meet tongue as the shock leaves him and he finally starts to react. It's with a newfound vigor then that he pushes her back until she's flush against the wall, her skin burning with the contact of the cool stone on her inflamed skin.

Her hands deftly find their way to his belt, pulling at the clasp and listening for the abrupt click of metal disengaging. Next she finds the buttons – goddamn him for wearing the button zipper that she hates.

It doesn't stop her though. Not as her hands slip along his hot skin and down into the opening of his jeans. Within another moment, she's got his cock pulled loose and she's pulling at its length, encouraging its full participation.

"That's it, Mellarky." She hisses as his teeth bite into her neck. With her hands occupied below his waist and her mind hazed with the burn of liquor, she lets the feelings start to overwhelm her.

The brush of the silky tie on her neck.

The smell of fresh bakery bread.

The feel of his teeth nipping at her breasts through her shirt.

Thank god she didn't wear a bra tonight.

"Katniss?" The voice. The damn voice she'd know anywhere.

The fucking voice that didn't belong to the man whose cock was in her hands. Whose teeth were nipping at her chest.

"What are you...?" Peeta sounded surprised. Taken aback. He wasn't unfamiliar to her needs; he just often didn't participate in them. He preferred not to share her in the time they had. Katniss shivered and released the man from her grip, pushing him back slightly until the man she thought she'd recognized stood before her, panting. Aroused. Biting his familiar lips.

Slowly, carefully, she peeled off the tie that had masked the unfamiliar eyes and the too familiar nose.

"_Rye_?" Peeta snarled and lunged, barrelling forward until his shoulder connected with his brother's chest. Katniss stood back as the boys rolled over the dirt. Letting it carry on for a moment, Katniss watched in an intoxicated haze as Peeta's shirt rode up and exposed his taunt midriff. She remembered then how hot she was. How much _relief_ she needed.

"Peeta," She gasped and reached for his ankle, pulling it sharply and distracting the two brothers. "I need you."

The youngest Mellark was on his feet in an instant, his hands grasping her cheeks as he leaned in. His tongue pushed its way past her lips, claiming, marking his territory as his brother watched on. The older Mellark, so similar in features, cat-called from the ground as Peeta ground his hips against her stomach.

Pausing to catch her breath, Katniss pulled away hastily and reached for the hem of Peeta's shirt. When it was discarded, when her hands were pressed to his chest, Peeta sucked in a harsh breath and pulled his pants down his hips.

She knew this game.

Sinking to her knees, Katniss pulled his member free and licked from base to tip with a flourish. Beyond them, still on the dirt, Rye slid his hand down and gripped himself firmly.

There was no sense of privacy. No need for it. None of them cared. Not as Peeta thrust into her mouth and Katniss eyed Rye haughtily.

"Fuck, Katniss," Peeta hissed as he quickly pulled away. The abrupt distance made her hesitate for just a second, just an instant, before she met Peeta's gaze and stared.

They communicated without words – they didn't need them – especially not when Peeta nodded slightly and Katniss proceeded to crawl over to Rye's side. The elder Mellark palmed himself frantically, his eyes wide and flickering between Katniss and Peeta.

Peeta simply grinned as Katniss slowly lowered until Rye's length slipped past her lips.

"Oh, goddammit," Rye groaned, rolling until he was leaning on his arms on his back. Peeta watched, his own hand running himself as his girlfriend sucked on another. It was enticing. It was hot. He couldn't wait.

Approaching quickly, Peeta knelt down behind Katniss and flipped up her skirt, exposing her damp panties to the cool breeze of the night. His fingers explored her first, swiping along the cleft of her ass before pressing into her mound. He relished in the squeak that escaped from her lips.

The lips that were now taking most of Rye's hard cock.

"So wet already," Peeta mumbled as his finger slipped into her slick heat. Katniss' hips bucked at his intrusion. Peeta laughed. "Ready for it?" He chided before slipping the panties down her ass until she was exposed.

"Do it," Rye grunted in between thrusts of his hips. Peeta grinned wickedly and pushed his cock home with a flourish, jolting Katniss forward with surprise. "Fuck," Rye exclaimed and nearly collapsed from the feeling of Katniss humming her pleasure.

"Already so close, Katniss," Peeta hissed and picked up his thrusts. Looking down, he tried to separate the fact that it was his brother there, below his girlfriend.

He knew it didn't really matter. He had her. She was his and he was hers. That's how it was always going to be.

With every push of his hips, Katniss' lips jolted around Rye's member. With every movement, Rye cursed and gripped the dirt. With every moan, the trio's breathing picked up.

"Oh dammit fuck," Rye moaned and slipped onto his back, his hand bunching around Katniss' shirt in a last ditch effort not to grind into her mouth. The final ounce of strength he had he used to push her away before he emptied himself onto the dry ground around him.

"Don't stop!" Katniss nearly shouted as Peeta's hips stuttered. "Peeta, _Peeta_," She moaned into the dirt as his cock moved forcefully through her. Keening moans filled the air as Peeta reached forward and gripped her hair, forcing her upright until her back hit his chest. His hand found her clit and he pressed urgently, his thrusts matching his pace.

"Gonna come. Do it now," Peeta groaned and jutted forward as her walls clenched around him and milked his length.

Spent. Exhausted. Peeta collapsed his chest onto Katniss' back until they slowly lowered down to the ground. They lay there, panting, while the sounds of the bonfire echoed in the distance.

Looking over at his brother, Peeta didn't mind that he was there. It should have bothered him. It should have. But Katniss was in _his_ arms. And she always called for _him_ when she came. Everyone else was just a need fulfilled. And that was perfectly fine.


	41. Wish You Were Here

_Another Dirty December fic submission - go check it out on Tumblr for all the awesome fics! Also, if you're following TTRC - sorry this isn't an update for that. I hope you'll accept my alternative. _

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><p>"Hey! Oof-" The screen goes dark for an instant, light wobbling as Peeta seems to right his webcam until it's facing him. "Is it working now?" He asks brightly, adjusting the lens until Katniss can see him clearly. Her insides clench as he finally comes into view, reminding her intimately of just how much she misses him.<p>

It's only been two months of him being away at school while she's still at home taking a gap year and trying to save up enough money for tuition. She already missed him like crazy. It was honestly the longest they'd been apart since the first grade and it was killing her inside to not have him close.

"Yes – yes it works Peeta," She affirms, trying to keep her voice just as bright as his despite how much she just wants to reach through the screen and pull him into her arms.

"Great! Now you start up yours, I miss your smile," He requests and although his tone is positive, she can see the serious look in his eyes that lets her know he's being completely honest. She huffs out a breath and reaches for the button to launch the camera's feed. The light flickers to life and she looks away, nervous of what she looks like as of late. "Oh," He hums to himself, pausing for a moment. "There you are." It's almost a reverent whisper as he says it and it makes chills run down her spine.

"Here I am," She replies weakly, her smile cracking as she watches him through the screen. He smiles back at her, his lips teasing at his dimples and forming the crooked smile she's always adored. "Now what do we do?" Katniss asks after a moment of just taking in the sight of him. Peeta shrugs and shifts, his eyes moving from the camera lens and towards his desk.

"Well, I know I've got essays to work on. What are you up to tonight?" Her stomach plummets as she remembers what she's wearing beneath the cameras view.

"Um-" She clears her throat nervously, drawing Peeta's attention back to the screen immediately. "Well, Johanna's in town," She starts. Peeta's smile only grows wider.

"That's good – are you guys going out tonight?" Peeta knows her too well. Whenever Johanna's in town there's _always_ the possibility of being dragged out to some party or another. Usually he's here with her, but not this time. And it's Hallowe'en to boot.

"Johanna knows a place on State's campus. It's a Hallowe'en party," She adds nervously. Peeta's eyes light up with excitement.

"Oh really? What's your costume? Show me," He adds, shifting in his seat so that all of his attention is back on the camera view. Katniss groans in nervousness, suddenly unsure of whether to show this man who's been privy to all of her for so many years, her revealing cat costume that Johanna had forced her into before heading home to get ready herself. "Come on Katniss," Peeta prompts from the computer screen. She can see the mirth in his eyes as he smiles into the feed and she knows she can't deny him.

Getting to her feet, she shifts the desk chair out of the way and stands back, turning with her arms above her head to show him her black corset and skirt adorned with a long black tail. Sitting back at the screen she grins sheepishly at the look on his face. From his vantage point, all he can see now are her bare shoulders and up.

"Someone is going to take you away from me in that getup," He warns with a laugh.

"Not a chance Mellark, you're stuck with me," She answers swiftly, more sure of her words than she is of herself. It's not that she's interested in anyone but him, but she does realize he's away at college and there are likely more than a few girls already interesting him more than her.

When he'd left, he promised it was only her for forever. She'd taken his words and tucked them away inside her heart. Though she loved him, she still couldn't help but think that every day he was gone he was just a little bit closer to realizing that she wasn't enough for him. But she never said it out loud. That would be treason.

"You look amazing, Katniss," He says lowly. She smiles in response, giddy at the way his breath hitches when he says it. She's always loved the sound of his voice.

"Wish you were here," She murmurs back just before her bedroom door slams open. Katniss near jumps out of her skin as Johanna bombards into the room, a sweeping mass of bright colour and cloth. She can hear Peeta laughing on the other end of the computer, his sounds cracking over her speakers.

"Ta da!" Johanna shouts, flinging her arms into the air, proudly revealing her navel and pretty much all else of the rest of her.

"What the fuck are you supposed to be Jo?" Katniss asks, astounded at her friend's costume – or lack thereof.

"Yeah, Jo, I'd like to know too, though I'm really enjoying my view right now..." Peeta's words shock Katniss' gaze back to the screen where she sees her pushed up breasts right in line with the camera while floating colours move in the background.

"Peeta, I'll talk to you tomorrow, have fun with your homework," Katniss shouts into the computer not even giving him a chance to say goodbye before she shuts the lid and forces it into sleep mode. "Jo – seriously, have you ever heard of _knocking_?" Katniss moans. Johanna just laughs manically.

"Oh, _come on_, Brainless! Like you would ever do something so risky as to _show your tits to your boytoy_." She mocks and twirls again sending her strands of colour flying. "Like it? I'm the After Party!" Katniss laughs, not having time to be insulted, before finally seeing the streamers and the red Solo cups that make up her costume.

"Great. Now you'll _definitely_ find somebody to come to your after party..."

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><p>It's late. She's buzzed. A healthy, decent sized amount of buzzed that incorporates a little bit of ginger and a whole lot of rye. Her feet hurt. Damn these goddamn shoes.<p>

Slumping down into her desk chair Katniss opens her computer and sets it back to life, letting it warm up while she unclasps her heels. Beside her she hears the unfamiliar ping on her computer just as she kicks her heels off and sighs deeply.

"Jesus, Katniss, do that again," Peeta's voice rings out in her room and she snaps to attention, a little confused and a whole lot turned on by the tone in his voice. Realizing it was her video chat program launching and resuming her call, Katniss spins on her desk chair until she's facing her computer, trying to figure out why his view feed is so bright and hers is so dark that only the illumination of her screen is lighting her up. "Turn on your desk lamp and let me see you," Peeta instructs softly. Katniss obeys without hesitation, her blood thrumming along with his voice.

"Hi," She says shyly once her own face is lit up on the screen. Taking a moment, she finally let's her eyes adjust to see Peeta sitting at his desk, shirtless, and with his hair heavily mussed up.

"Hi to you too – good night?" He prompts, running his hand along his jaw as he takes in the sight of her hair escaping its braid and her sweat-run make up.

"Excellent night. Jo found a perfect match for her 'after party' and took him home," She giggles in response, remembering the burly man named Thresh who'd paid for her cab.

"Ah so that's what she was. I never got to see it all though I'm not complaining about the reason. How is your costume holding up anyways?" She can see him bite his lip while his blue eyes flicker between the camera feed and the lens.

"I absolutely can't wait to get this fucking torture device off!" Katniss huffs, remembering then what's poking her in the ribs is actually the boning in the corset. Taking another look at the view feed she sighs and moves her hands behind her back to start pulling off the lacing. She's not really worried about putting anything on display – the camera doesn't see below her collar bone anyways. But Peeta knows.

"Fuck – Katniss. You're going to kill me here!" Peeta explains breathily at his computer. She only laughs in return, shimmying until the corset is loose enough to pull over her head. Her body is pulsing with the thrill of being half-naked on webcam.

"Relax, Peeta, you've already seen it all," She chides playfully, moving to rest her chin on her hands. "So, what'd you get up to tonight?"

"You're seriously going to ask me that? While you sit there topless? You do realize I haven't touched you in two months, right?" He scoffs and she can see him running his hands through his hair exasperatedly as the red of a blush stains his neck.

"Trust me – I realize." Katniss answers lowly, biting her lip while considering him through the screen. "Tell me one thing that you did today. And one thing that you wanted to do," She adds as an afterthought, turning it almost into a game. Peeta sits back to consider, biting his thumb in the way that he does when he's pondering something important.

"I wrote a thousand words on microeconomics in the developing world. It's thrilling stuff, you should read it," He starts and shifts in his chair. Leaning back and letting his hands rest below her line of sight in his lap. Smirking, he seems to stare right through the lens at her for just a moment. "One thing I _wanted_ to do was take one of your perfect breasts in my palm," He brings his right hand up and flexes it while he speaks. "And pull on your nipple to make you make that sound I like – you know the one."

She does. Oh, god does she ever. Clenching her legs together Katniss shifts in her chair, her movements belying her intents.

"Peeta," She warns, her voice nearly a whimper. He only seems to be encouraged by her tone, his tongue licking his lips quickly as he leans forward with one arm on his desk and the other in his lap.

"What did _you_ want to do today, Katniss?" He asks in return. She can see his shoulders shift ever so subtly and she _knows_ how he's occupied himself. She doesn't know whether it's the alcohol in her system or the thrill of watching him that makes her do it but she sits up, her breasts just barely covered by the lens' range.

"I wanted you to take off that corset for me, but I don't always get what I want. So I'll settle for wanting to see what you're doing with your right hand right now..." She answers with a husky voice. Peeta's eyes widen in response and he sits back in his chair, his mouth forming an 'o' of surprise.

The look is soon replaced with a grin so wide it fills his whole face. God she loves that face of his.

Peeta hesitates for just a moment before getting up and wandering away from his computer. For a split second, Katniss fears that he's bailing on her. That she was too forward and has embarrassed him and now he's going to leave her worked up and alone and embarrassed. When that second passes though, she realizes that he's locked his dorm room door and is coming back to his desk clad only in his favourite red boxers.

"Let's play a game of chicken," He suggests slyly, sitting back down in his chair. Katniss grins wickedly, agreeing without restraint. "The rules are, for everything I do, you do. And everything you do, I do. Until one of us backs down. Fair?" Her grin falters for just a moment, realizing exactly what she's getting into here. Peeta doesn't miss a beat though. "Hey –" He calls her attention back to him and his gentle smile. "This is just between us, okay?"

His reassurance is all she needs before she nods briskly.

"Okay. How do we start?" She bites her lip again while Peeta smiles his shit-eating smile.

"Well, I'm in only my underwear here. Why don't you get to the same starting point?"

"I already am," She counters, letting him know that she lost her skirt as soon as she walked through her room door.

"Okay. I'm going to start touching myself." His voice is raspy as he says it, his hands slowly lowering until they're in his lap and out of sight. Katniss exhales loudly, her hiss of breath audible on both ends. Peeta groans at the sound and flicks his eyes up from his hands. "You too, that's the game."

Nodding, Katniss takes his lead and shifts until her hand slips down and over her center, her fingers rubbing gently on the outside of her damp panties. A small moan slips from her lips before she can stop it.

"Don't try to be quiet, Katniss. I want to hear you for this," Peeta insists, his voice scratchy over the feed.

"You too then, promise me," She replies, letting out another moan as her fingers slip past the elastic band.

"I promise." His voice is tight as he agrees. When she looks at the screen again she can see the way he concentrates on his movements, his chest flexing as his right arm shifts methodically just out of view. She longs to see it. To feel it. To taste it.

"Can I-" She hesitates, watching as he slowly lifts his head to look at the screen.

"A trade," He pauses and shifts slightly. "Show me your breasts and you can see what I'm doing – shorts on." Katniss scowls.

"That doesn't seem very fair," She counters. Peeta shrugs and then returns to his motions until Katniss can't take it anymore. "Fine!" She huffs and scoots her chair back until her breasts are fully exposed to the light and the lens. She hears Peeta's audible inhalation and she smiles. "Your turn."

Her eyes remain trained on the camera as it shifts with his hand, angling down until she can see the spattering of hair running down to where his covered hand is slowly and methodically moving against his cock. The sight makes her squeeze her knees together before she slips a finger inside herself instinctually.

"Fuck," She groans, the sight spurring her on. Peeta laughs heartily on the line and runs his other hand down his abs until it ghosts over the fabric of his shorts, outlining clearly just what she's missing.

"Pull your nipples between your fingers," He grunts, both hands remaining steady in his lap. Katniss obeys without thinking, running her left hand up until it pinches each pucker and elicits a moan that fills the room. "You've been cheating," He hisses into the line.

"What?" She stops and pulls her hands away from herself. Peeta laughs.

"Don't stop. I just-" He grunts as his hands slow their pull. "I can see how wet you are from your fingers. With the light." The thought makes her skin buzz until her hands are pulling twice as hard and her hips are rocking with her now-embedded fingers.

"I want to see it," She whispers hotly, her moans small and quick.

"See what? Tell me what you want Katniss," His voice is rough and she can see how he strains to hold his hips from jerking into his palm.

"I want – I want to see you jerk yourself off," She clarifies, her breath coming out in quick pants. Peeta groans heavily and shifts in his seat.

"Christ, that's fucking hot coming from you. Yes. I want to see you too. Lower the lens of your camera and sit back until your ass is on the edge of the chair. Like that time I fucked you on it – remember that? Think of that. Think of my cock filling you up on that chair." His words are slick and hot, turning her on while she moves to stand and drop her panties to the floor without thought.

The memory spurs her on, pushing her forward as she angles her camera down and uses the view feed to orient herself until her whole torso is on display. Biting her lip she watches as Peeta follows, his hands catching in the sides of his boxers before he pulls them off, exposing his thick cock to her sight and making her groan.

"You're so fucking beautiful Katniss, I can't wait to come home," He mumbles, his hand rolling over his tip before he starts pulling in earnest. Katniss follows quickly, his grunts filling her ears as her fingers slip down and inside her, her left hand filling while her right tweaks her swollen clit. "Yes, right there. Remember how my tongue feels when it's there," He continues, his words making her heart beat thickly in her chest.

"Peeta," She whines, her body lifting to meet her hands with every passing moment as her eyes remain trained to the computer screen.

"I love the way you call my name when you come, Katniss. Come for me," He demands. She can see his hips lifting off the chair now, his hand jerking his cock roughly as his grunts fill the audio. Her body reacts, her fingers twisting up inside as her hand presses on her clit and throws her over the edge with a frantic burst. She cries out, nearly biting clear through her lip as the feeling over takes her. Somewhere in the distance she can hear Peeta's own rush, his own chanting of her name as his hand finishes him, white strands of come shooting onto his abs.

"Oh fucking hell, that was hot," Peeta exhales loudly. She can see him reaching across the desk for a box of towels before he cleans himself up and shifts the camera back to his face. His colour is up, a line of sweat coating his brow as he grins sheepishly into the camera lens. Katniss follows slowly, her bones jelly and her neck sore from where she pressed it unwittingly into the back of the chair.

Their smiles match when he finally sees her face again, her cheeks red with exertion and her eyelids heavy with pleasure.

"Who won?" She asks coyly, her gaze trying to catch his in the camera. Peeta grins widely.

"I'd say we both did, don't you think?" She nods before running the back of her hand across her forehead.

"I guess I should go shower?" She asks absently, finally taking in the bedraggled sight of herself.

"Take me with you?" Peeta replies longingly. When she looks back at the screen she sees he's serious, his look one of longing and a mixture of sadness.

"I doubt my laptop would last very long underwater and besides, I don't want to ruin it if we can do _this_ every once in a while," She counters, her words bringing back a small smile. "Wish you were here," She adds sadly. Peeta nods, his face scrunching up as he quickly looks away while he tries to hide the tears forming in his eyes.

"Wish I were there too, Katniss."


	42. Doors and Stockings

_AN: Another Dirty December fic from over at Tumblr. Go check it out! This challenge was Forbidden or May/December pairings. Clearly I went with the May/December. Also it's a PwP - let's not consider the story holes okay? Also, happy fucking seasons all of you amazing people who read, review, kudos, love, follow, favourite, exist. I wouldn't do this without you._

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><p>"Ms Everdeen, you're late," Mr Mellark addressed quietly to the seminar she was trying to sneak in to. She knew it was useless – the class only had twenty people and they were shoved into the classroom like sardines already.<p>

"Sorry – my sister-" She started to apologize before he looked up from his papers and met her eyes with his deep blue gaze. The man did something to her insides – the kind of good thing that she didn't know she should feel for a man nearly twice her age. None the less, she felt it pool and spark as his eyes moved infinitely along the length of her body before he smiled awkwardly – as though ashamed of being caught.

"Please, take a seat and we can finally get started," He instructed, gesturing his hand out while his gaze returned to his papers.

The class was a daze for her. Studying youth and the law, Katniss Everdeen hoped to graduate with her degree and enter the field of youth criminal justice so that she could be more prepared to help people like her sister who'd struggled after their mother and father died. She was doing this for Prim and all of those kids who'd simply lost their way.

And currently, Mr Mellark, her mentor and teacher, was standing between her and that dream. With only one paper left to receive her final grade on, Katniss was nerve-racked by the possibility that her coursework wasn't strong enough and he'd fail her. Ever since she enrolled in his course she'd experienced some of the most difficult topics and assignments she'd ever faced. The man was inscrutable when he spoke about casework – describing the scenarios from memory in lecture while afterword, in seminar, he encouraged discussion with a much more positive engagement that thrilled her in more ways than one.

"Everdeen, what are the contributing factors to youth criminality?" Mr Mellark called her out of her meandering thoughts, singling her out with his toothy smile and his bright blue eyes. She smacked her lips together, desperate to get some saliva back into her mouth so that she could speak instead of behaving like a fish out of water.

He did this to her _every fucking time_.

"Uh – well, uh, poverty, familial complications," She started, coughing slightly and trying to look away but unable to do so. Her insides burned as his thumb and forefinger stroked his stubbled chin. Dear _god_ he looked good today.

"Education and health, Mr Mellark," Delly Cartwright called out, adding more factors and trying to pull his attention towards her. Mr Mellark just nodded before looking around the room and opening the discussion up to everyone.

The rest of class moved quickly, the hour and a half passing by with heated discussions between some of the students about whether reparations were enough to dissuade youth behaviour. Mr Mellark kept the group going, encouraging new tangents and prompting new ideas. Katniss participated minimally, nervously twiddling her thumbs under the desk as she watched her teacher move around the blackboard.

When the class ended, students piled out the door quickly. Katniss was right behind them, eager to get home.

"Ms Everdeen," Mr Mellark called, pulling her to a stop just as she was about to move through the door. Turning, she raised an eyebrow at him and glowered. He only laughed lightly, waving her over towards him as the last of the students disappeared.

Walking towards him her body stirred. Her blood thrummed in her veins as his gaze appraised her.

"I wanted to talk to you about your final paper," He started, digging through his leather briefcase while his blonde curls fell into his face. He brushed them away haphazardly before turning towards her and holding out her essay. Reaching out, her hand brushed his as she took the package, her arm snapping back as the sizzle went straight between her legs. He curled his lips up in a nervous smile as she flipped each page, noting the comments, before turning to the back and taking in the grading scheme.

"A 93?" She sputtered, astonished. Her mind began to spin as it tallied her marks together quickly, realization settling in that she would make the honours list in her final year. Looking up, she caught Mr Mellark's eye and nearly let loose a very un-Katniss like squeal.

"Now, the TA who marked it wanted to give it a 95 but that's what I wanted to discuss with you," He motioned for a chair and sat them both at the tables. Katniss couldn't take her eyes away from the pages, turning over each one with a revered look. She'd written about Prim's case file. Her bread and butter.

When she looked up again, Mr Mellark was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped just below his jaw. He looked casual. He looked inviting. He looked to be twice her age. But damn it did she have to cross her stocking covered legs to stem the pulsing in her core. Her body was humming with adrenaline and desire, her biggest concern with this school year having been resolved, now she could relax. Now she could go after what she wanted.

"The assignment, Katniss, was to research a case file and make recommendations based on discovered history and patterns. Which you did an excellent job at –" He pauses, lifting his eyes to meet hers. She licks her lips at seeing the fire in his gaze. He clears his throat and sits up. He doesn't continue his sentence, instead shifting in his chair while his eyes darken appreciatively at the way she uncrosses her legs and leans forward.

"Mr Mellark, I really appreciate the grade and all. But there's something else..." She hesitates, clearly uncertain of whether she's just imagining the lust in his eyes or if he's really trying to hide the bulge in his pants with his hands. "I... I would like-"

She doesn't need to finish.

His lips clash against hers, his body lunging for her, at her, towards her, with an abruptness that catches her off guard.

It doesn't take her long to catch on and she's gasping against his mouth, sucking in his breaths as his hands find purchase on her hips and his lips trail down her neck.

He's been here before. Before the start of the semester he'd been here. They'd met at some social put on by the faculty and he'd been captivated by her and the way her and her friends had sang karaoke. They'd gone home that night together, a flurry of arms and mouths as they ripped at each other clothes. But when she'd walked into his classroom on that first day he'd been every bit the professional man he should have been before. He'd reverted to 'Mr Mellark' and even insisted that they don't discuss what they'd done until at least the semester ended.

And now it was done. And now she was crushed against his body in a black sweater dress and stockings that begged for his touch. The semester was over. The moratorium on their attraction was over.

"Is this alright?" He gasps into her shoulder as his fingers pull loose her braid. She knows he wants to be sure. That Mr Mellark – no, _Peeta_ – needs his consent.

"Yes," She replies breathily, her fingers tracing the hem of his sweater until they slip below and snake up his back. His shirt follows her hands and soon she's stepping back, pulling the shirt free of his body as he pushes her towards the door. With a solid click, the latch catches and her back presses up against the wood. "Fuck yes," She grunts again as she pulls at his belt.

Her body hums with energy, her hands won't stop until soon they're dipping into his boxer briefs and pushing down until his heavy cock is exposed in her hands. She releases a squeak, familiarity of his body rushing back to her like a wave as her core dampens further.

"Too long, too long – you're never taking my classes again," He whispers urgently against her, pressing his body into her and laving her neck with his tongue all the while her hands cup his balls and drag across the head of his straining cock.

"Graduating. Never a student again," She insists between breaths. His hands slide up her skirt until they grasp her ass, squeezing appreciatively in excitement.

"Good," He grunts, one hand moving around to the front of her thighs until it shifts against her heat, finding her wet to the touch. "_Jesus_, Katniss," He groans, his fingers pushing at her through the fabric of her stockings. It's a bittersweet pleasure as he moves against her, straining to go deeper but desperate to enjoy the resistance.

"Mr _Mellark_," She keens as his fingers dip into her heat through her stockings. He thrills at the sound of his name, reveling for just a moment in the forbidden side of what they're doing. He's almost twice her age. He was her teacher. She was his student. Neither of them cared.

"Come for me Katniss," He commands as his hips begin to thrust into her palm. He wants to bring her to the edge twice. He needs to feel her come on his fingers so he knows she's ready for him. But goddamn does her hand feel good.

The rocking of his palm against her clit, the motion of his fingers edging into her slit _just barely_, seems to drive her over the edge as her hips thrust into him and she calls out a moan that echoes in his ears. His chest pressing against her, holding her upright as her body shatters in ecstasy. Slowly, she returns. Her hand, still holding his cock, tightens on each pull, dragging the skin up and down and pulling him towards her. When she's able to stand on her own again, he kisses her hard, his tongue demanding entrance past her lips.

She doesn't even realize, dazed by her orgasm, what he's doing until her chest is pressed against the door, her hands braced against the heavy wood and her hips pulled back with her stocking-clad pussy exposed behind her.

"No more essays," He croons, pulling her hair to her left shoulder as his tongue streaks up her neck and his cock runs against the moisture open to him. "No more books," He continues, his hands squeezing her breasts and then sliding back to her legs. "No more teacher's dirty looks," He finishes and his fingers grip at the fabric and tear a hole, fully opening her to his touch.

"Do it," She preens, wiggling her ass against his hips and resting her cheek against the door.

He doesn't need any more encouragement before he smoothly lines himself up with her entrance and pushes in until he's flush against her. He groans, his hands gripping her hips so tightly she knows she'll have bruises. "Again, _Mr Mellark_," She taunts, driving him wild as he begins to thrust earnestly.

Their sounds fill the classroom, the groans and moans mixing with the wet sounds of his body repeatedly moving within her. Bracing against the door with everything she has, Katniss pushes back into each match of his thrusts, desperate to feel him fully inside her.

"More," She grunts, needing her second release more than her first. Peeta doesn't hesitate to oblige, his right hand snaking around until it finds her clit and pinches it roughly through the remaining fabric.

"_Fuck_, Katniss, you're so-" He trails off as she clenches her inner muscles around him, holding him tighter within her. "Jesus, fuck, I'm going to come," He gasps, his fingers circling her clit harder as his body picks up his tempo.

"Inside; come inside me," She hisses just before his fingers push her over the edge and his hips push her harshly into the door as he strains with his orgasm. She can feel him inside her, pulsing along with her own muscle spasms, as he lets his release overtake him.

They stand there, pressed against the classroom door, joined, for a moment before he softens and slips loose. She lets out a long sigh, her body content as his chest presses into her back.

"That was better than before," She whispers quietly, savouring the moment. He presses a kiss to her neck, his nose nuzzling into her hair.

"It's because now we're not strangers. And we're allowed." He affirms and pulls back, reaching for the Kleenex in his briefcase before attempting to tidy her up and closing his pants. Laughing, she moves away from the door on wobbly feet and turns towards him.

"I thought you liked when I called you 'Mr Mellark'," She teases.

"I do. But I like it better when I can properly respond," He replies, pulling her close and pressing his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. His fingers find the hole he ripped in her stockings and he brushes against her slit softly. "I wasn't too rough, was I?" He asks carefully. Shaking her head, Katniss grins widely.

"Not at all. It's been five months, I think it's allowed." He nods then and they stand there quietly, unsure of what move to make next.

Now she's allowed to see him. Now he's allowed to see her. Now they can actually see if this attraction is just more than a fling.

Somehow she thinks that maybe getting to know him in the classroom was a good thing. Maybe being forced into continued contact turned this attractive stranger into more than just a random fuck for her. Maybe now, after everything, Mr Mellark could become something more to her. She can't wait to find out.


	43. This is Not a Happy Story

**AN: Warning. Trigger words/content. Please read this first: **This story was, when I first started to write it, intended to be a DD entry that showed another side to sex. But then after a discussion with the ever amazing Wildharp it was decided that to submit the story would infringe on the good vibes that DD is recognizing. I didn't write this to glorify or condone or to pass judgement or really to do anything but provide a cathartic writing outlet for me. I'm okay with any review that you should leave afterwords (even if you leave none) - I would only ask that you check your judgement at the door and head the warnings that this story contains _non-consensual activities, violence, assault and coercion_.

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><p>This is not a happy story. It won't end on a good note. It won't make you feel all warm and tingly inside – unless, I mean, this is what you need to get through your day. It's not a love story or a tale of redemption. It is just what happens when the Capitol owns you. It is just the truth from a caustic mind torn apart by the vicious wolves of the rulers of Panem.<p>

It is my story. And it is not happy.

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><p>"Don't fucking touch me!"<p>

It was the first moment that I was pulled from the Arena, covered in blood that wasn't mine and still clutching to a rock for dear life. Their hands were everywhere, pulling at my clothes and tearing at my limbs to force me down onto the table. I had no choice in the matter. I was their Victor and I _would_ be presented for the Capitol to view me like a play-thing.

I was already theirs for the taking.

Siski had warned me of this before I'd even risen on my platform. She'd reminded me cautiously, her words masked in references of the old days.

"Don't take it all Jo or you'll be the Timberbeast's klooch until you'll end up on Memaloose."

Don't win or you'll be their whore until you die.

Good warning Siski. Too bad I didn't listen. Too bad you had to choke on your own vomit before I was even crowned you self-indulgent fool.

I don't hate you though, not even for a minute, because you warned me and I didn't listen and so when their hands ripped the hair from my skin and their needles jacked me up with drugs to make me resistant to everything they'd stick in me, well, I couldn't hate you. I'd chosen to live despite the possibility that awaited me. Maybe I'd convinced myself you were lying.

I clung to that idea until my Victory Tour because nothing had happened yet.

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><p>I convinced my first trick that I was much better with my tongue than Enobaria ever was. He bought it, hook, line and sinker.<p>

We were on the train. We'd just left from District 1 where Gloss had told me in no specific terms what Snow had lined up for me in the Capitol – he said he'd see me in a week. He asked me to bring my sharp tongue.

I'd gone back to my train car only to be escorted two more down to where he was waiting for me with baited breath.

"Johanna Mason," He'd crooned, standing up to greet me with eyes flashing in the low light. He'd lit candles and wore a blood red robe.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, I believe you already know who I am," He laughed. My skin crawled. "Now, why don't you come over here so we can get better acquainted?"

My palms had sweat like morning dew and I couldn't stop the bounce in my knee until his palm rested atop it. Then I couldn't move a muscle. Not until he laid me back. Not until his hands roamed by body and his lips found my neck. I nearly shot out of that bed.

But then I'd remember Finnick Odair's words to me after I'd won.

"It's always easier if you pretend it's okay," He'd whispered. Words from a living Victor.

I put my hand to his cheek, scraped my fingers down from his ear to his collar. "How about you let me do what I do best and handle that wood?" I croaked. He smiled widely, his eyes lighting up with the prospect.

"Oh? And what are you thinking?"

"I promise not to use my teeth like Eno." I smile then, my teeth Capitol-bright in the dim light. He rolled off of me not a moment later, his hands pulling his robe loose as his cock jutted upwards. I lay there for a moment, catching my breath and both thanking and cursing Artemis that this was not my first.

At least the Capitol couldn't sell _that_ part of me.

"Well, get on with it then," He grunted. I watched his palm slip over the head as I wet my lips and slipped down his frame.

My hands were the first to make contact, my nails dragging up the length and eliciting a moan of appreciation. I grinned wickedly at him, my eyes the only thing giving away my bitter intention. But he didn't notice. I learned soon none of them ever noticed.

I didn't take my time. Pressing my lips together I pushed my mouth over his cock, the tight press of my teeth covered by my flesh made his body lurch forward instinctively.

"Goddamn, Johanna," He gasped as my tongue flicked the head. He groaned openly as I sucked deeply, my nails scraping against the skin of his sack. It seemed to only encourage him as I wrapped my hand around his length and moved it in tandem with my mouth. His hips began to jut eagerly towards me, his moans filling the cabin and making me feel cold.

Pretend you like it. It's better that way.

Fuck that, Finnick Odair.

I could feel his pulse quickening every time my tongue flattened up against the underside of his cock. He keened when I let my teeth catch on the head. His hand fisted in my hair as he reached fever pitch.

"Fuck, take it all bitch," He grunted as his hand forced me down onto his cock until it made me to gag. I tried to claw his hands but they were too tight in my hair as he emptied himself into my mouth.

His arm dropped from my head as his body relaxed into the bed. I pulled back, my lips dripping with saliva. I spit his filth onto his chest, my eyes burning with hatred.

He didn't even notice.

I stole Blight's fancy Capitol razor when I escaped to my room. That night I pulled my dresser from its secured spot on the train's wall and barricaded myself in my room.

It was the first night I shaved my head. They made me wear a wig for the rest of the Tour.

* * *

><p>Snow ordered me to 'soften up' or at least choose a personality and stick to it. He's pissed that my 'consistency' isn't up to snuff. Like my attitude was something that I wanted to control when I was being forced to do things for people. I think that's why he uses the best tool he has to try to subdue me.<p>

This was all before he took everything away from me. When I still had a reason to try to put on a good show.

"Jo," Finnick coos, leaning in my doorway and smiling his pearly whites at me. I scowl and turn away, wordlessly letting him into the hotel room I've been given for my evening 'guest'. "Nice digs, even for you," He adds as he clicks the door shut and saunters over to the couch. He pats the cushion next to him and I raise a brow in response. "We both know why I'm here."

I step back, my feet carrying me away until my back runs up against the wall. As far away as I can get from the man who's become an unlikely friend in this Capitol hell hole.

"It'll just be easier if we get it over with," He states calmly though his nails pick at the bends of his knees. His eyes never leave mine as I stare back at him, mouth agape.

"No." I gasp, finally getting air into my lungs.

"We don't have a choice. He's watching us right now. Jo, please, you know what happens when –" Moving to his feet he pleads with me, his Capitol mask breaking as he tries to remind me of everything that we have to lose if we don't do what Snow wants.

I see my family flash before my mind's eye. I see Finnick with his Annie. I see them all dead.

"I don't want to," I whisper harshly. If I give in to Finnick that will truly be it. There will be nothing left of me to give – I'll have given away everything. I'd already lost my dignity and my self-worth. Making me do this with Finnick – the one person I need like oxygen – it would strip me of the very core of my being. I could never again trust him nor anyone else. He would become one of _them_. I'd lose him. It would destroy us.

It would destroy me.

"Does it make it better than I don't want to either?" He attempts sadly.

"Fuck, that makes it _worse_," I admit.

He lets me stand there for another moment, my arms wrapped around myself as I hiss out a breath. When I gather myself, I drop my arms and step away from the wall.

"Don't be kind," I growl and pull my shirt up, exposing myself and quickly reaching for his belt.

Neither of us wastes any time. We're professionals. We know how to undress others. His hands go to my breast as my fingers wrap around his cock. It's already rearing to go, thick and heavy in my palm. I look up, glaring into his eyes that are hazy with drugs.

"You really didn't want to do this," I state – it's not a question. The drugs in his system are obvious.

"If this were any other way –" He starts and leans forward until his lips brush against mine. My palm stings as the crack of my slap rings out across the room.

"Don't," I threaten, my hand soothing his red cheek before sliding down his ribs.

Hissing in a breath as I slip to my knees before him I make quick work of bringing him to the edge. I use it as an avoidance of his intimacy. As an evasion of his Capitol mask. As a way to prolong the inevitable. When he's chanting my name, his drug addled mind falling deeper into the illusion, I get back to my feet from my knees and walk towards the bed.

I don't get on it. I rarely do. Instead I lean until my hands curl in the sheets, my knuckles white as I wait for him to come up behind me.

"Jo, come on," He moans, his hand trying to pull me up from my position. His voice sounds pathetically sad, almost childish, as though doing it this way upsets him. "Don't be like this," He pleads when I resist and keep my hands fisted.

"If I have to do this you are going to fucking do it my way, Odair," I grunt and turn away until my eyes are locked on the headboard.

I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.

"Just fucking get it over with," I shout when after a moment his hand hasn't left my back and he still hasn't moved. He shifts slightly until I feel him press against me.

"Fine," He mutters. It's only another second before he's invading me, his body pushing into mine with a swift motion that knocks me forward until my head hits the bed. "Fine!" He yells again as his hands grab my hips and pull me back towards him.

He slides in and out of me with such finesse that I can't help the moan that escapes my lips. I refuse to enjoy his length or the way his fingers caress my clit to try to bring me pleasure.

I will not succumb to Snow's wishes. I will not let him ruin the only good thing I have here.

This is not happening.

"Fuck, Jo, give me _something_," Finnick moans as his hand pinches my nipple and his sweat drips onto my back. I give in, just a little, just to appease him because he's _Finnick_, and squeeze my walls that surround him. When he hums in return, I continue to do it – not for my own pleasure but to hopefully end this quicker.

It's still not fast enough.

When he finishes inside me I try not to collapse onto the bed. I try to remain in my prone position as his heavy body leans against mine, his cock still in me as the drugs wear down from his release. But then it becomes too much and my legs give out and we go crashing down onto the bed. We're a sprawling mess of limbs and sweat.

I realize then that my body is shaking. I'm not exhausted or cold or high. I'm broken. I'm crying.

Snow has taken my last refuge in this world. I can never again look at Finnick as my safe haven – he's just another torture added to my list.

And the worst part is that when he realizes what I'm doing he only wraps his arms around me tighter.

* * *

><p>The day Snow burns my family alive I fuck Finnick by choice for the first time. I spin my wheel of options and decide that I've nothing left to lose.<p>

Finnick was right – it is better if you pretend it's okay.

It had started the night before. I'd gone out with Gloss and Cashmere to party before my next scheduled trick. I'd wanted a good buzz if only to take the edge off of the bruises from the last one. I'd showed up fueled by liquor and a nice buzzer to get me going.

The trick had not been impressed but he'd entered the room anyways.

Everything was going according to plan. I let him grope me, I let his lips follow the line of my throat, I let his hands slip below my belt. But I stopped when he tried to kiss me.

None of them were allowed to kiss me.

He didn't like that. Before I knew it his hand was gripping my chin and I was forced to face him as he put his tongue between my lips. I snapped my teeth together at the invasion, my incisors piercing his tongue and drawing blood.

"You _bitch_," He grunted, pushing me to the floor and grasping at his mouth. I clicked my teeth together viciously as he glared down at me. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

He was serious. I could see it in the flicker of his eyes.

He should have killed me in the Games. It would have been easier.

As he lunged for me, I ducked to the side, my hands scraping across the floor as I tried to pull myself along the tiles. His hands found my foot, his strength pulling me back towards him as my nails strained against the smooth rock below.

"Get _off_!" I screamed and kicked at his face, my body lurching away from him and scuttling across the floor. He was on me in another second, my shoulders gripped in his hands as he lifted me upwards. "Don't fucking _touch me_," I hissed, rearing back before spitting in his face.

I was slammed into the floor before I knew what was happening. Three kicks to my body later I was desperate not to cry. Three more kicks later and I pulled his foot out from under him and watched as he cracked his head against the table.

I never looked back after bolting through the door.

* * *

><p>Sex. Intimacy. Relations. Whatever.<p>

It was never the same after the war. Or before the war. Or since I won my Games. Which I guess _was my real war_. I survived but pieces of me are missing. Capitol men who still walk this earth with me still have a piece I'll never get back. Which is funny because if anything, they should have _put_ something in me, not _taken_ something from me. Or maybe I'm just so full of them that it's like a liquid tar, coating my insides and drowning me from within.

I don't know. That's some philosophical shit.

All I can really say, I guess, is that some things you _can_ survive, but surviving is not always living. The thing that was stolen from me all those times wasn't something tangible. It was little bits of living. Little moments that took the life right out of me.

So I survive. But I wouldn't call it living. That's why this isn't a happy story.


	44. Goddamn Winter

prompter: birdlovesafish over on Tumblr, prompt: Katniss and Johanna going to the gym.

* * *

><p>Goddamn winter. Honestly, I hate it with such a passion that I could probably part seas with my determination to get rid of it. I mean, if I needed to part them. But I don't. What I need to do is stop the five (and growing) feet of snow that's fallen in the last week. The five feet of fluffy white torture that's kept me cooped up inside and away from my daily runs.<p>

Sure, maybe you'd think I could run outside in the winter. Maybe in that same fantasy world my city would actually plow my neighbourhood, District 12, and allow its residents to go about their business without getting trapped under an avalanche.

But no. Not going to happen. Not in a million years.

That's likely why I was slowly going crazy, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, switch, crazy going slowly was I, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, switch.

Which probably explains a lot about how exactly Johanna-fucking-Mason got me here into her little battle-dome-frenzy land of a gym.

If it were any other scenario, if I could _afford_ to come on my own, I'd not be here right now. I'd not be hanging upside down surrounded by juice heads while Jo snickers about the blood running to my cheeks as she torments me into another inverted sit-up.

See, the thing is, Jo knows everyone. Jo _especially_ knows the guy currently sitting at the front desk playing gatekeeper to this private torture playground. And apparently _knowing_ this guy means that Jo gets to pull me through the snow to her hardcore gym where she sneaks me in and proceeds to test every last one of her 'Personal Trainer' moves on me.

My arms are dying. My core is crying big, fat, lactic acid filled tears. My lungs would probably fair better in the icy chill.

"Fuck, Jo, can we get me down out of this thing already?" I whine, bordering on pathetic.

The bitch just laughs. "Hell no, Brainless! You've got five left before I'm letting your skinny as down from there! That's what trainers are for!"

I try again, desperate to finish and get out of here and get a little blood back down to my feet. Halfway up my abs clench as I hear the familiar voice of Finnick Odair call out from across the gym. I jerk back down, my eyes falling on the man as he waves from across the gym.

"Don't you dare fucking leave me here Johanna or I will skin you like that buck I took down a month ago!" I growl. I know immediately that my threat hasn't worked.

"Be right back, Brainless," Jo smirks, saluting me quickly before sauntering across the gym to ogle her co-worker.

Abandoned, I huff, the air escaping my lungs in an audible grunt as I look up towards my feet. They're still securely strapped in, my gym shoes peeking through the other side of the ankle wraps.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" I curse, gearing up to lurch for the release. In all honesty, I'm not quite sure what my plan is once I unstrap my feet – getting up here was hard enough and required basically holding onto Jo's legs for stability as she clicked me into place. In one swift move, I pull up, my hand clawing at the bar over my feet. "Dammit!" I grumble when my hand releases, my arms sore from earlier. I feel my face go even redder from the addition of embarrassment from being trapped here.

After several more attempts I realize that this is utterly, completely, hopeless. Swinging limply, I let my fingertips slip against the carpet as I watch Jo across the room. Inside my rage is simmering, my mind dreaming up a whole host of things that I can do to make her pay for this.

"Do you need a hand?" I'm so lost in my vivid imagination that I barely hear the man behind me as his hand grasps my calf. I jolt, the surprise catching me off guard.

"Wh-what?"

"I asked if you needed help – your face is getting a pretty shade of maroon," The man asks again. Shifting, I try to peek at his face to see if I recognize him as one of Jo's asshole's friends who always just want to cop a feel. I can't get a good look and my eyes are, admittedly, going a little bleary.

"Yeah – fine – sure. Yes, please."

Laughing at my tone, he comes around to my front and steps up close, his kneecaps aligning with my forehead. From this position I get a pretty decent view of his strong calves speckled with a brush of dark blonde hair.

My body hums. There's another thing I've been missing this winter.

"Get a hold of my ankles – hey!" He laughs jovially, tapping my leg to bring me out of my fantasy involving this man and his legs entwined with mine.

"Huh?" I glance up but can only see his red 'Personal Trainer' polo and messy blond locks.

"Grab my legs and I'll fold you down after I unclip your feet," He repeats. I grip my arms around and down his legs reactively, my hands clasping his ankles and my face pressing up against his thighs. _Shit_, I think, noticing that my head is pressed _very _closely to a _very_ private place. I try not to think about it. I try not to notice. But when he lowers my legs down to the ground, his body shifting against and over me, I feel something move against my cheek and my cheeks burn.

When he pulls away, a smirk crossing his face and his blue eyes filled with mirth, I grin wickedly back at him.

"What the hell, Brainless? Are you replacing me with Mellark?" Johanna calls out from somewhere above my head. I still don't move, my eyes locking with the man above me whose smile only grows.

"Yes!" Maybe this place isn't so bad after all.


	45. Road Flares

prompter: kismet4891 on the Tumbl Bumbl, prompt: road head, everlark style.

* * *

><p>Shit. Oh <em>shit<em>. Fuck. Goddammit.

"Katniss-" I hiss, my teeth clenched together as I remove her hand from my crotch _again_. "Stop – Kat stop, it's a RIDE stop, shit."

Just what I need – just fucking perfect. Like I couldn't get a break tonight? Hadn't I earned my karma by being the designated driver tonight? I guess not because now Katniss is loaded and sitting in my front seat as we drive into a queue of cars waiting for the RIDE stop.

"Kat_niss_," I groan, my car idling as she runs her nails up my leg. She's been touchy feely since before we left Gale's party and while it's fucking hot (I can't lie), it's a whole other ballgame to be pulling up to face off with an officer while trying to hide the raging boner that she's conjured.

And here I'd hoped we'd get home and I could just fuck her on the stairs like last time.

Those thoughts weren't helping.

I pull up to the next officer and roll the window on my old Civic down while I grip Katniss' wandering hand in mine. "How're you doing tonight sir? Ma'am?" The officer sticks his head in the window, his flashlight beam poking around the car.

"Um, uh good, sir," I respond, my voice breaking in the middle and having to clear my throat. I try to subtly pull my jacket lower over my crotch to avoid the light's detection of my... issue.

"Where are you two coming from tonight?"

"A friend's birthday outside of town – we're heading home now." The officer nods his head and flicks the light towards Katniss who's caught in the beam like a deer in the headlights. When I look over, I see her one hand locked in mine, the other one tucked between her jean-clad thighs. I can't help but quirk an eyebrow at her as I realize what she was doing.

"Have you been drinking tonight, sir? Your passenger looks like perhaps she's had a few," He says briskly and my attention snaps back towards him as he leans a little closer, probably smelling for any alcohol on my breath.

"Uh – no. Sir. No, sir. I was the DD tonight." I can't help the stutter in my voice. Why do they always make me feel _guilty_?

"Alright, well, I don't see anything out of sorts here. You take that one home and put her to bed. Have a good night," He pulls back and my jaw drops as he offers a wink. Groaning, I put the car in gear and slowly drive through the guided lane of road flares before returning to the speed limit.

"Jesus Katniss, he _knew_ what you were up to," I grumble quietly. Then I hear it, the low laughter from her and the moan that accompanies it.

"Don't be such a spoilsport Peeta, live on the edge," She croons. I feel her hand working back towards my groin and I shift against her hand.

"We're almost home, another twenty minutes."

"Nuh uh un. Now, carpe diem."

Before I know it I feel the zipper on my pants go down, her hand slipping into my boxers and pulling my cock out into the open air of the car.

"Katniss!" I shout, surprise and instant arousal hitting me like a wall. I grip the steering wheel harder, my eyes desperately trained on the abandoned road.

"Just relax, Peet. It'll be okay I promise." In the next second I feel her breath on the head of my cock, her hand gripping at the base as all the blood rushes there.

And then her mouth is around me. I feel the car jerk slightly to the left as my hips jut but she pulls back, her hand pressing on my thigh. "Relax," She murmurs and this time I'm more prepared for her tongue flicking the tip and then her wet mouth sinking down around my length.

I don't remember a time when I've ever been more keenly aware of how yellow the road lines are late at night. Nor how dark the side roads of town are. Or, hell, how fucking warm Katniss' mouth is as her lips suction around my cock, her tongue laving the underside as her hand pulls at the base. She works me slowly, her pressure firm and perfect, as I slowly rock my hips into her mouth.

Flicking my eyes to the speedometer I note the increase of speed and take my foot off the gas. Cruising, I carefully place my feet on the floor and use the opportunity to rut my hips against her mouth, my knuckles white on the wheel.

"Oh fuck, Kat Kat Kat," I chant as she picks up her pace, her hand working quicker as her spit drips down my length. When it seems like too much, I feel her moan, her mouth vibrating with a sweet hum that I feel all the way down in my balls. "Christ, I'm going to come," I hiss and for the most foolish second I drop my right hand from the wheel and grip her shirt needing something, anything, to hold on to to tell her how much I want to be in her right now.

It hits me it's like a two-by-four, her mouth suctioning around me as I release into her throat. She hums appreciatively as the last of my semen fills her mouth before she pulls off me, her hand swiping across her face to reveal the brightest smile I've ever seen.

"You okay?" She laughs, her hands tucking me back in my pants as I pull off to the side of the road.

"Yes – dear god yes. But –" I flick the car into park and turn to her, unclipping my belt as a wicked smile plasters my face. "I can't wait to get home to return the favour."


	46. Coiled

_AN: Inspired by discussions that happened on Tumblr once. Also, post-write note, somewhere in this frenzied search in canon Peeta kills Brutus. But I forgot that. So, just ignore that bit. Thanks PeetasAndHerondales for noticing!  
><em>

* * *

><p>Her hands are clammy as they hold tight against my jaw. Her lips, dry and chapped, press against mine quickly in a flash of a kiss.<p>

"Don't worry. I'll see you at midnight," She promises with a hard smile on her face. I want to reach out and grab her, to keep her beside me and not let her disappear as Beetee's plan comes into action. It doesn't seem safe – sending her off with Johanna.

We should have left earlier. This isn't right.

But I don't have a choice. Before I can even take a step after her they're off down the steep slope and disappearing beyond the trees. I take another step forward, my body stiff as I watch her travel further away and I feel like my heart is attached to the golden wire that bonds us.

Just as I'm about to lurch forward after her – not able to bear the worry of our separation – Finnick's arm juts out and stops me.

"Steady now, Peeta," He whispers lowly. I blink towards him and he nods ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving the place in the trees where Katniss and Johanna have disappeared.

Time seems to stretch forever. Seconds seem to last for hours as the wire jerks and shifts with every movement of its travels.

"Ready?" Finnick asks aloud, this time directing his words towards Beetee. I take another step forward, my body compelled to follow Katniss' path unwittingly. My mind blocks out Beetee's reply as it focuses instead on the insects buzzing in the next sector. Or the buzzing in my mind. It consumes me as the blood pumps thickly through my veins.

I see it first in the distance, its speed confusing me as it slithers through the trees.

"Finnick..." I murmur and make another jolt forward as the golden wire comes spinning up to my feet, stopping where it coils.

I stare at where it lay dead against the tree. At where our connection has been cut.

"Jo – " Finnick gasps and he's off into the trees, his figure disappearing without warning into the brush. I don't hesitate to take off myself, my body rushing into action as the invisible wire binding me to Katniss fades and my heart stutters.

With every second that passes I feel our connection grow weaker. I can feel my failures rising up to consume me as my promise to keep her alive comes crashing down.

I stumble more than run through the jungle as every tree and vine and brush curls around my legs and tears at me. It does not matter how many times I fall, my mouth half open in a shout, each time I still lift back to my feet and take off again. The further down I run, the more confused I get. My mind falters on which direction they've gone – was it east or west? – I don't know but I never stop.

"Katniss!" I scream, my body shaking as I streak through the trees. Somewhere in the distance I hear Finnick call out as well, his voice carrying further as the sound of the insects press in on me. My head buzzes and my blood rages with every passing second of desperate searching.

Behind me, beside me, above me, I hear footsteps racing, hear laboured breaths escaping empty lungs. I cry out for her again, our connection nearly non-existent.

I'm pulled up short by the boom of a canon. It runs chills down my spine and freezes me to my spot. I spin in a circle, my fingers gripping into my hair and yanking furiously as I try to reclaim my bearings. Though the thought that that canon was for Katniss passes through my mind, I still feel her.

I know she's alive.

"Katniss!"

"Peeta!" The voice that responds to me is warbled, holed through like Swiss cheese. I hear it above me – back up the slope and to the west – and I quickly regained myself and push towards the sound. She continues calling for me, guiding me to her like a game of Marco Polo.

I'm not far off now.

The buzzing in my head is lessening. I don't hear the other canons, not really.

Then the ground begins to shake.

In the distance through the thick trees I just barely make out the sight of her, blood coating her skin and her bow raised upwards as the lighting strikes down.

For a moment I think it's hit her. I stop breathing. I choke on the sting in the air. My knees collapse below me but my eyes refuse to stray from the sight of her. Crouching on my knees I chance a glance up to the sky and watch as it crackles with light before bursting.

The Arena lights up around me. Trees explode; thick cracks track through the ground and send vines into hot burning flames. All around me light flickers as I kneel on the jungle floor, dazed, while the heavy sound resonates through my body. When I look up again Katniss is no longer standing.

I can't feel our connection.

I lurch forward until I'm stumbling and crawling on the ever moving ground. I'm not fifty metres from her when I see the metal sinking through the trees.

"Katniss!" I scream and scream though my voice makes no sound as she's lifted into the air by the hovercraft that flies up above. I hear a birdsong, confusing and clear as she disappears into the ship's depths. Falling to my knees I sag against the weight of despair that is beginning to smother me. My breath remains lost and I have to gasp as my hands clutch at my knees.

It isn't long before my own body is frozen in place and I'm being lifted into the sky. The hovercraft that comes for me wears the Capitol insignia proudly and the moment I'm on board the sickly white innards remind me of just how much hell is coming for us.

The current that freezes me releases my body and I jerk out of my pose, my eyes scanning the bay of the ship for any sign of Katniss.

I'm the only one here.

"Katniss!" I shout again, her name the only thing I have spoken for far too long. I get to my feet slowly, my legs shaking still from the vibrations of the collapsing Arena.

I need to find her before they hurt her. I need to find her before they kill her.

But the room is all walls and no doors, its stark white almost deceptive in its depth. I call for her again.

This time I hear her scream. Its blood curdling tone has me lunging for the wall and pounding my fists against it until my bloody palms streak the smooth surface. The scream continues, on and on until I feel like I'm drowning in it. I beg for it to stop. I beg for my death.

The screaming begins to whimper before it stops altogether. I feel our connection snap like the wire as it was cut.

"Mellark, Peeta," A smooth computer tone fills the room. I pause and glance behind me.

I move just far enough away from the wall for the electrical current that courses across the floor to bring me to my knees. In another moment, my hands are pulled upward by an invisible force, my body being stretched out unbearably. When I'm hovering, my toes the only connection with the floor, I feel my body crack against the strain. I cry out as sheer pain rips through me and my fear for Katniss clouds into my mind. Everything swoops in my vision and I'm just about to black out when the voice fills the room again and my heart stops.

"What do you know about the District 13?"


	47. Delicious, Delicious

_Kistmet just wanted some Nutella/Peeta fun, okay?_

* * *

><p>He just could absolutely not get enough of this. He was insatiable; a fiend. The full object of his desire lay bare before him, tempting him and piquing his interest with just the tiniest of action. He couldn't help himself – not as its pale sight greeted his eyes and its cherry-like tones glistened in the light.<p>

No, Peeta Mellark needed this. And he needed it now. Needed it yesterday.

Disappearing down the hall without a word, he entered the kitchen and dove into the pantry, shifting the endless cans of soup out of his sight, searching, searching, searching, until his gaze landed upon the perfect item.

There, in the dark back corner, the thing that would top it just right. Its smooth dark tones would cover everything and its nutty aroma would blend into the senses with ease. _Nutella_. The spread of the gods.

Reaching his hand forward his fingers wrapped around the heavy glass jar, pulling it from the depths and into the light to be savoured. He couldn't wait a moment more. Twisting the lid quickly he removed the white plastic and dipped his finger inside, withdrawing it and placing it carefully between his lips. He smacked once, twice, his tongue savouring the delicious spread before he reclosed the jar and turned from the pantry in a rush.

This was going to be the best idea yet. His mouth was already practically drooling as he re-entered the room down the hall.

"Perfect, absolutely perfect," He whispered, approaching slowly. "You're going to be my treat today, you know that right?"

He didn't wait for an answer, instead opening the jar again and licking his lips.

"Are you ready?" He asked gently, his hands making smooth motions around but never touching. With his gaze darkening, he picked up the waiting spatula and dipped it into the jar, withdrawing it coated with the viscous substance. "I can taste you already," He groaned and dragged the tip across the surface before shuddering with excitement.

His body wound tight, he made slow work of his masterpiece. With a deft hand he filled in the dips and turns, covered the heightened tips and the hidden clefts. Stepping back he allowed himself to gaze upon his work before licking his lips and biting his cheek as his blood thrummed.

"Peeta?"

Swinging his head around, Peeta jumped at his name being called. His daze was broken.

"Hmm?" He hummed, dropping the jar and the spatula onto the bakery counter.

"Is that a Nutella covered cake?" Katniss gasped, stepping into the kitchen and staring at his piece de resistance.

"It is indeed. Happy birthday, Katniss," He grinned wickedly and nodded towards her. _Totally getting some tonight_, he couldn't help but think as her eyes darkened at the sight.


	48. Totally Worth It

_Jemmielou wanted some quality vacation-booking time with Everlark._

* * *

><p>"Are you using my Airmiles for this?" She calls quietly from across the hall. I sigh into my fist, biting my knuckle as I try to wind my way through the travel agency booking site. <em>There are too many ads flashing to me right now<em> I think and lean back in my computer chair. I spin absently, my head pointed towards the roof as I turn. "Hey!" She shouts from the doorway, startling me.

"Sorry," I jerk until I'm sitting upright and facing her.

"I asked if you were using my Airmiles?" Grinning, she holds up her card in the air and smiles.

"Are you sure you want to use them for this?" I ask hesitantly, turning back to the desk and pulling myself towards the computer. Katniss saunters into the room at my question and turns the chair until she's able to sit, perched on my lap.

"What do you mean? Of course I want to use them!" She says and slaps the card down on the desk.

Leaning my chin on her shoulder, I pull us towards the desk so that my hands can reach the keyboard around her.

"Okay, then," I mumble and begin re-typing in our details for the fifth time that day. I'd never thought _this_ was where our first big trip together would be. Hell, I never thought she'd ever even _go_ for this when I'd first suggested it. And honestly, I'm excited we're going, but my reluctance is coming solely from the worry that once we get there we won't like it. At all.

"Hey – no! I thought we were staying there!" She shouts, her hand clasping over mine on the mouse and redirecting it on the dropdown. I glance at the price increase as the screen refreshes and shift my eyes towards her, questioning. "What?"

"Well – that's another five hundred bucks, Katniss," I state carefully, trying to avoid the argument about money that we have when we sometimes make big purchases. Katniss only smiles and holds up her blue patterned card waving it in the air.

"Airmiles!" She calls giddily. "Besides, it's more like the woods there. Like the _cabin_," She whispers suggestively. I feel my body tighten at her words and I can't help the shit eating grin that spreads across my face with _that _memory.

"Got it. Okay – we have the flights, hotel, passes and you wanted the food package, right?" I confirm and click the drop down for the details. She nods vigorously and turns towards me with a wide smile.

"Yes – that's the one where on Sunday morning we –"

"Yep. It's RVSP'd."

"Book it!" She bounces on my knee and I laugh reactively, my free hand coming to wrap around her waist to steady her.

"Okay, okay!" My hand clicks through the motions, my fingers quickly typing in our information and confirming our details. All throughout the tedious process Katniss practically buzzes with excitement.

"It's done," I say after a moment, steadily clicking open my confirmed e-mail.

"Let's go!" She bolts out of the chair and pulls at my hands, dragging me down the hallway of the quiet house. It's late. We should probably wait until morning.

That doesn't stop her as she slips into the dark room down the hall and flicks on the lights.

"Huh?" Mason rolls over at the light and glares towards us as Katniss kneels down at his bedside and whispers to him conspiratorially. I watch from the frame as he shoots up in bed, his small eight-year old frame nearly vibrating. "We're going _where_?" He screams with excitement.

"We're going to Walt Disney World!" Katniss shouts and before I even get a chance to move Mason is up and out of bed, skating down the hallway and screaming for Lilith to wake up because we're going to _Disney World_.

"Good decision?" Katniss asks, smiling as she wraps her hands around my waist and rests her chin against my chest.

"Totally worth the Airmiles," I confirm and press a kiss to her forehead. The sounds of Lilith's screams of excitement joining in with Mason's has me pulling Katniss closer to my chest and reveling in the sounds of our family around us, joyful and excited.

Totally worth it.


	49. Peeta-fucking-Mellark

_Wildharp has a weird thing for riding on a bus, ha._

* * *

><p>We hit a bump and my head bangs against the bus window, <em>again<em>, shocking me awake from the restless bit of sleep I've been trying to get since we left Toronto two hours ago. It doesn't help that the near blizzard outside is freezing my pane of glass, or that the midnight bus is technically two hours behind due to weather, or that Peeta-fucking-Mellark is the _only _source of warmth while also being the sole crushing weight pushing me against the fucking cold window.

No, it doesn't help that Peeta-fucking-Mellark's wide expanse of chest and shaggy blonde hair is currently tucking me tightly against the glass while his hands curl around my waist and his knee nudges against mine. I'm trapped, you'd say.

I mean, I guess it serves me right for agreeing to go to the hockey game tonight in the first place. I wasn't big on university sponsored trips really, but it was his birthday and how could I deny him seeing his favourite team get absolutely smashed by their rivals for the super low price that the student government had arranged?

Honestly, I probably couldn't deny Peeta-fucking-Mellark anything.

Except a pillow tonight when we get home. They're _all_ mine tonight.

"Ughhn," I grunt, my body shaken by another unnecessary bump in the road. I feel Peeta's head bounce against my breast and his arms clench around me tighter.

Here's a list of foolish things I've learned I'll do for my partner: Travel four (technically now six) hours to see men shoot around a puck; be used as a human body pillow; freeze; -

"Ow!" The weight of Peeta's body presses into me as the bus shifts on the road and my head whacks against the glass.

Add 'possible concussion' to that list, please.

Spending my time brainstorming ideas of just how this man can pay me back, it takes me a few moments to even realize that his arms have slacked from their grip before I look down and meet the most ridiculously blue eyes I've ever seen.

"Hi," He whispers, looking up at me through his impossibly long eyelashes as his head rests against my shoulder. I can't help but grin back at him. I'm such a sucker.

"I think I have a concussion," I joke as his eyes widen and he pulls away, his hands flying to my head and gently pulling it forward for examination. The laughter falls out of me lightly turning into a sigh as his fingers let loose my braid before winding along my skull.

"What'd you do?" He asks, his fingers finding the bump I didn't even realize I had until I jerk away from the pressure of his touch. When I meet his eyes with mine, it's only concern that fills his gaze.

"Oh, I didn't think _I actually_ had something – I just – I hit my head against the window, I guess," I reply, my own hand snaking up and feeling lightly against the bump. A hiss escapes me as my fingers ghost over it before I drop my hands to my lap.

"You hit the _window_? And _that_ happened?" His voice is disbelieving.

"Well, I did have the weight of two torsos to support for the soft landing," I counter and his crooked smile falls below his scruffy Movember beard.

"I'm sorry," He offers quietly, his hand moving up to gently brush against my cheek. I let myself relax into the feel of his calloused palm and close my eyes, reveling in his body heat. I'm so distracted by curling myself closer that I nearly jump when his lips find mine in the dark.

He slides against me slowly, languidly, his tongue moving past my lips with no resistance as his hands slip from my chin to my shoulders, to my ribs, to my hips. The moment seems to last forever, our breaths mingling when we pull back to suck in air if only to rejoin a second later. I let my own hands move until my fingers are locked in his belt loops, my body turning on the bench until my knee is tucked under me and my frame is leaning forward into his.

"Ehem," Someone clears their throat over Peeta's shoulder and I snap back, my body nearly crashing into the window as I catch sight of the guy's face. I can't help the scowl I give when the man leering at us moves into the in-transit bathroom, waggling his eyebrows. Peeta only laughs as the door clicks shut before launching towards me again.

This time it's more urgent, his fingers squeezing the flesh of my hips while his chest presses against mine. I'm gasping for air when he pulls my left leg from the floor and stations it over his hip, effectively drawing us tightly together.

I swear I let out a squeak as the bathroom door opens and the guy from earlier laughs before walking back up the aisle between the seats. Peeta joins him for a moment before I slap his chest, sharing my scowl with _him_ for his behaviour.

"What! You were enjoying it!" He grins sheepishly as his hands rub up and down my legs. I try to stay firm, try to hold the scowl in place, but it's the patchy blonde scruff and the lights from the oncoming traffic reflected in his eyes that gets me. Every. Fucking. Time. "Come on, tell me to stop and I will," He whispers, leaning in against my ear so that his breath escapes against my neck.

I pull back slightly and stare him down, challenging him in the game I know he's trying to start. I won't give in. Not first, anyways.

His hands are the first to move, slipping under my shirt and drifting up my stomach towards the underwire of my bra. Keeping eye contact, I smirk and push my chest out, daring him to cup my breast. He doesn't back down. Instead his fingers push forward and under the soft cotton before unexpectedly tweaking my nipple quickly. I gasp, my hips jerking forward abruptly as he laughs before returning his mouth to my neck.

"I love the way you smell," He murmurs against my skin, his nose trailing along my collarbone as his hands gently knead my breasts. My lungs gasp quietly for air, the feeling spurring me on as his lips find my shoulder and his teeth softly nip my skin. "I love how you taste too."

He presses on further, his right hand moving from my chest and dipping down until it traces along the top of my jeans. I can't stay still after that. Letting my own hands loose from the loops I drop one to his ass cheek before squeezing tightly. He jumps at the feeling, his laughter tickling me as he moves impossibly closer. Peeta-fucking-Mellark has a _fantastic _ass, I tell you.

But I don't stop there. I let my other hand wander, moving against the skin of his stomach until it brushes through the spattering of hair that leads below his belt. I follow it deftly, familiarly, and slide my hand until it cups the front of his jeans.

"Fuck," He hisses at my touch. I can feel how excited he is, how hard he's getting beyond the fabric that separates my hand from him.

"I like the smell of you too." My words ghost against his forehead as I press kisses to the scar above his brow. "I like the feel of you under my hands. _In_ my hands," I whisper and drag his zipper down slowly before snaking my hand into his jeans. He jerks and thrusts up into my grasp, his teeth biting where my shoulder and neck connect.

I take that as a sign and move carefully, my hand wrapping around his length and pulling slowly within the tight confines. It seems to be enough though as his lips return to mine in a sloppy kiss filled with distraction and heat.

Gasping into his mouth, I quickly become aware of the way his hand is now pressing against the apex of my thighs, his palm pushing against me with every jerk of my hand. I can feel the dampness growing – my body reacting to his touch. In return I slip him loose and pull back from our frenzied kisses, my tongue wetting the palm of my hand slowly as he watches with a darkened gaze.

My hand drops back down to him slowly, first my fingers, then my palm, wrapping and dragging upwards with a steady pull that has him lifting his hips.

After that it's a blur. His own fingers move into my pants and dip into my folds despite the awkward angle, his forefinger pressing against my clit with abandon as our tongues battle and my hand moves against him. It doesn't take long for him to break from our kiss and grunt lowly, his body tensing as his forehead tucks against my shoulder. I try to capture every last drop of him, careful of the mess, before I lose myself in my own feeling of bliss as his fingers finally push inside and work in time with his palm. My body jerks wickedly as I come, my toes curling in my boots, before I slowly lean forward against his chest.

"That was – " I try, breathless. He nods against me, pulling his hand out and using it to tuck himself back in his pants. From somewhere he hands me a Kleenex and I take a moment to wipe my palm clean before slipping it into the garbage baggy provided.

"So good," He affirms. I feel his hands tangle in my hair, bringing my mouth to meet his softly before he pulls me against him. "Try to get some sleep. _Away_ from the window."

I nod against him and close my eyes, finally relaxed and warm.

Might as well add that to the list as well, 'give public orgasms in return for sleep (and orgasms)'.

I can't say it yet, but I love Peeta-fucking-Mellark.


	50. Sounds in the Trees

_aryanapenno wanted something along the lines of Tarzan, and out came this. To all those on Tumblr who've already seen this, sorry to get your hopes up for something new!_

* * *

><p>Their sounds don't make any sense. They're all jumbled and garbled and that small one keeps moving his paws but nothing makes sense. I watch them curiously through the trees, my body perched high above and looking down over the make shift nest that these... Things, have created in my home.<p>

Strangely though, they look like _me_.

I don't know what to make of it and all I can do is watch. Watch as they make noise and scare away the wings. Watch as they bang together these _things_ that I don't understand. Who are they? _What_ are they?

There are four of them down there. Sometimes six. Five look almost like me, but have short fur, and they're all different sizes. The other one is mean and it reminds me more of myself than I'd like to admit. When that one goes away they all seem to become even louder.

Why are they here in my trees?

I stay until the darkness returns and they occupy themselves with something that glows brightly. They're quieter now and it seems like some of them have disappeared. It should be safe to go home – to tell the others what I've seen.

Kull won't like it.

I move from tree to tree with ease, my grip perfected as I climb between branches and reach my paws out with trust that the tree won't move. It isn't long before I've gone the distance home and I land with a thump on mam's nest.

"Katiss," Mam signs, her paws lifted in surprise. I nuzzle into her chest affectionately and grip the fur that covers her skin as a greeting. "Eat!" She commands in another second, thrusting fruit into my paws. I rip into the thick flesh easily and bring it to my mouth, my teeth biting into the tangy sweetness. I watch as all around me my family mingles and cleans and continues on with their lives. They don't even know of the beasts that aren't too far away.

"Mam," I start, tapping the ground to get her attention. She turns back to me and we communicate in our way, our actions and sounds mingling as I try to describe the things I saw earlier. I don't expect her eyes to fill with fear or for her to call Kull over before I even finish. It doesn't matter – he makes me repeat it all anyways before stalking off with the other angry silverfurs.

* * *

><p>The next day I venture towards where I remember the strange nest. I move quickly, unsure now that I should really be going there after Kull ordered me never to go back. Surely he knew I wouldn't listen – these creatures were like <em>me<em>, how could I not go back?

When I come upon the strange place I find it empty. There is nothing around this time. I watch until the sun rises high overhead before I clamber down from my perch and stumble towards the nest on all fours. Moving quietly, I approach first the shelter. It's the same colour as the trees and when I press my paw into it in shifts under the pressure causing me to recoil instantly. I retreat once again to the tree line, my body hiding just beyond the shadows and waiting for something, _anything_ to jump out at me.

When nothing comes I venture back, my paws knocking things clumsily to the ground as I grasp at the strange things. They're cool to the touch, softer than some trees and harder than rock. Making my way throughout I finally venture towards the one thing that had drawn me the most: the light in the dark.

The spot on the ground where it had been last night is dark now, almost black, and slowly something is rising from it. I shift closer carefully and reach out my hand to touch at the object in the center.

A sound escapes me that I've only ever heard when I fell from the tree and Mam had ordered me never to climb again. It echoes throughout the nest and I catch sight of the wings lifting in surprised flight at my noise. My paw hurts where I've touched the black and small whimpers escape me as I clutch it to my chest. I feel the small drops of water run down my face and I swipe at them quickly, embarrassed though I'm alone, to be doing something so unlike the rest of my family.

This is something that _separates_ me from family.

"Hello?" The sound freezes me in place, my body still as though I could disappear by never moving again. My chest hurts as the fear courses through me.

They're _here_.

I turn around slowly, prepared to run at a moment's notice, only to see the smallest _thing_ watching me from the shelter.

It looks just as scared as me.

Thinking quickly, I do what I always do when faced with the threat of another beast and lunge towards it, shocking it back behind its fake leaves. There's another clatter from inside and I use the chance to run, rearing up on my hind legs and bolting into the trees.

I didn't think about how lost I'd get if I wasn't able to climb.

* * *

><p>"She was little dad, like me! And her skin was dark and her hair was crazy – like <em>this big<em>!" I explain, following my father around the camp as he prepares dinner on the make-shift cook stove. He hums and ahs to my words but I'm not stupid, I _know_ he's not listening to me.

But I need him to listen. I think she's hurt.

"Peeta, will you please wash up for dinner?" Mum calls from her hide out in the tent. She _hates_ being here, but dad had needed to come for some research and we'd all come along for the three week adventure.

_I_ was loving it. Something new and cool every day. All the swimming I could want. Neat bugs and animals. But I think dad and I were the only ones who really liked it. Hal was here to work, Thom was here as protection, and Rye just couldn't be bothered to do anything but lay around like a bag of flour.

"Yeah Peet, forget your monkey girlfriend already," Rye called from his place around the fire. I scowled at him, turning back and grabbing the dishes from dad.

"Please dad, we need to find her. I think she burnt her hand or something in the fire pit –"

"Peet," Dad turns to me then, his blue eyes soft. "Would any of _your_ friends stick their hands in the fire?"

"No?"

"Why do you think this little girl would? Kids your age know better than that, don't they?" He suggests and I can't help but grow annoyed.

"But I don't think she's – "

"Scoop out the rice and take a plate to your mother. That's the end of it, Peeta," he states, tapping me on the shoulder and lightly pushing me towards the stove top. I sigh in exasperation and do as I'm told.

Dinner passes without another mention of the girl. I eat in silence, my head hung in shame for not being able to convince my father of her existence and her need for help.

It's only when the fire is built up and the flames are flickering in the air that I hear the rustle in the trees behind me. I try to brush it off - to think it's just the wind – but the humidity of this jungle has no such thing on a night like tonight.

"What's that noise?" Thom grunts, getting to his feet and reaching for his gun. I'm on my feet in another second, sneaking behind him as my father follows. We approach the tree line carefully and then I see it.

The flash of skin. Her mangled dark hair through the edges of the leaves.

"Dad!" I shout and leap forward, smacking Thom's gun towards the sky and surprising everyone. Dad barrels towards me and grabs at my collar, shaking me roughly and demanding to know why I'd done something so foolish. "She's here! I swear, it's her!"

He lets me go immediately and stomps with his flashlight towards the brush. We all watch with baited breath as he rips the leaves back and reveals the small girl, no more than my age, huddled with her hand clutched to her chest and her body mangled by barely covering rags and scars.

"Don't hurt her!" I leap forward and stand before her, my arms out wide to protect her from whatever wrath or fear driven anger might be levelled at her.

I can't let them hurt her. I'll keep her safe. Always.


	51. Blood in the Eyes

He was five the first time he went beyond the fence, following after his Pa's footsteps as they left marks in the wet soil. The thrill of the hunt was buzzing through his blood and making his steps light.

"Quiet now," his Pa murmured, slowing his pace and holding up his hand. Gale could only bounce on his toes and bite his lip while he watched his Pa raise his bow.

It was near silence when the snap of the nock let loose and the rabbit toppled to its side. Gale was off like a whip, racing the fifty feet to claim the fallen prey.

He never even noticed the tree branch just above his eye line until his forehead smacked hard against it and he fell to the ground with a scream.

When Gale opened his eyes he had to blink hard, the sheen of red tingeing his gaze making his mind reel.

"Son?" His Pa huffed, leaning over him with his huge hand resting upon his forehead carefully. The touch made him wince and woozy when he tried to sit up. "You okay?" The nodding motion of his head only caused more blood to drip into his vision.

"Did you get him?" The boy asked, wiping the back of his hand over his face and smearing the viscous fluid onto his shirt sleeve. He didn't care. All he wanted was the bonus of a better supper tonight.

"Sure did but you gotta be more careful. Coulda knocked yourself out cold there. Let's get you to the Everdeens so Lily can look that cut over, okay?"

Nodding, Gale pulled himself to his feet and ran his hand over his face again and into his hair. At least the sheen of red would mask the burning embarrassment that stung his cheeks at being so foolish.

* * *

><p>The night his Pa didn't come home was the first and only time his Ma hit him.<p>

He'd lashed out, blamed her, the moment she'd given him the news because he'd overheard them arguing the night before. He hadn't believed – not in his confused and grief stricken mind – that Hazelle Hawthorne hadn't caused his Pa not to come home that night. And he'd yelled tirelessly, screamed at her while his siblings watched from the edges of the room, until she'd lifted her left hand and backhanded him across the face.

Her ring – the only thing worth more than anything they owned but the house – had caught the thick skin of his brow and torn at the flesh. The blood had flowed quickly and done more than shut him up.

The silence could have suffocated. Gale lifted his hand and brushed at the blood until it blurred his vision.

Only it wasn't really the blood that made the room swim. It was the tears of exhaustion, of grief, of utter helplessness at the loss of his Pa that filled his eyes.

It was the one time in Gale's life that the blood in his eye made him cry.

* * *

><p>"Ow, fuck," Gale hissed, backing away from Bristel quickly and grabbing at his forehead. Pulling his hand away he grumbled and looked off.<p>

"Hey, let me help – " Bristel offered, pulling her shirt down from where he'd bunched it above her breasts and leaning towards him. He stepped back again, shaking his head as the thin line of blood streaked down his face.

He'd come here to forget – to get over the fact that even though he spent his free days off from the mine helping Katniss and Peeta and Haymitch – he would never get what he wanted. The blood in his eye was reminder enough.

It was almost laughable, how the situations aligned. Earlier in the day he'd helped Mellark set a snare before it snapped and the wire they were using lashed back against him. The cut hadn't been deep, but the wound had bled until Katniss had had to leave. Now as he nipped at Bristel's skin out at the slag heap the wound had reopened like a cruel reminder.

Every time he tried to forget, every time he tried to move on, help or make things better, the wound would always reopen. He'd never get Katniss. It wasn't meant to be.

"Gale, here," Bristel whispered, breaking into his thoughts as the blood dripped onto the ground below him. She offered him a ripped handkerchief stained with coal dust and he stared down at it.

"I gotta go, Brist," he murmured and took off towards the trees without another word.

He didn't head home that night, instead curling his large frame against the log where they hid their bows until the dawn broke and he made for another shift at the mines.

* * *

><p>"Good, you're awake," Coin's voice floated into his consciousness at the same time he opened his eyes. The red of his blood burned his gaze as he stared at the hovercraft's roof.<p>

He didn't have any words. What he'd just witnessed had robbed him of all the sounds and syllables he knew.

"The mission was successful. You'll be glad to know the Mockingjay was retrieved from the City Circle and is being restored presently," she prattled on. He closed his eyes, willing the images to leave his mind. The explosion, the look on Katniss' face, her body flying back against the brick.

All of those children.

"Sadly, her sister was on the incoming medical team though I'm not sure how she managed that –" He sat up swiftly, head spinning and the blood pounding from the lacerations on his face and forming a grizzly criss-cross pattern over his scowl.

"What are you saying, Alma?" He growled viciously, his heart fearing the worst but his mind needing confirmation. Gale's fingers gripped the hard edge of the metal gurney, the knuckles turning white.

"Primrose Everdeen died from your bomb."

He couldn't tell the blood in his eyes from the red he saw as the rage boiled to the surface and he lunged for the woman he'd trusted who had destroyed everything.

* * *

><p>"Dammit Gale you need to watch what you're doing," Johanna barked, her nimble fingers pulling the needle and thread through the twice stitched scar on his brow. He couldn't remember how many times he'd broken the skin there now, letting the thick fluid pour from it easily.<p>

The day he stopped counting was the day he'd watched Katniss Everdeen on live feed step down onto District 12 soil for the first time since the war ended. He'd been caught off guard in training, watching the newsfeed before catching a right hook from his sparring partner. He stopped counting because that was the last time he'd ever see District 12, his home, again.

He was done with that life. Done with the memories and the tallies of spilt blood and torn ideals. The blood that flowed into his eyes then had seemingly washed him of his hope for reconciliation. His nightmares reminded him well enough that he was never needed in her life again.

Somehow he'd found himself here, living out his days with Johanna Mason by his side. He wasn't sure how it happened – one day she'd stepped in the ring and she'd fought him viciously until they'd both backed away, covered in marks and gloves at their sides. She'd stared him down until he'd fallen to his knees lost for breath.

Now she took care of him in her own harsh way. They were good for each other. Neither one looked for comfort but found it in the fire they offered to one another. Today she'd watched him face off against a younger trainee in the ring, watched as he missed the dip and took a hard jab. Somehow the boxing had kept them both sane.

"Don't forget who you're fighting," she whispered as she tied off the thread and pressed the gauze over the cut. The antiseptic stung and he blinked his eyes closed to try to clear away the red.

"What are you saying, Jo?"

"You stopped fighting yourself a long time ago, Gale. Don't let the past get back in," she warned and pressed a light kiss to his hair before pulling back.

Her words echoed in his head, haunting him and reminding him of the demons he still fought. Every time he lost, every time the blood returned to his gaze, he remembered his past and the things he'd lost.

Jo was right. When he got caught up in fighting himself – in fighting his own anger – he lost not only the fight that was in front of him, but the fight to move forward. He needed to stop letting the blood get in his eyes.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Had a no good very bad day and spent half of it being a lame teary mess. I don't expect it, but if you have a kind review out there I'd really appreciate it. <em>  
><em>Either way, here's this oneshot for you.<em>


	52. The Boy

_AN: Sometimes I have conversations and then I write things like this. Haymitch and the exact moments of losing the boy. Edit Update Also! Um, just to be clear, a lot of the dialogue at the end from 'Don't be stupid' to 'Enobaria' is right out of the books - I wanted to link it with canon but still see the Haymitch side.  
><em>

* * *

><p>"Where's the boy?"<p>

The response was blurred in his mind, his vision hazy as the heels of his palms dug into his skull.

_No_.

* * *

><p>He'd woken with the flicker of lights overhead, his body tensing from its prone position on the settee in the Mentor's Lounge. It was the first sleep he'd had since they entered that goddamn arena and it had only happened because he was pretty sure someone had spiked his water with a sedative. The wakefulness <em>did<em> have that heavy feeling, like perhaps his limbs weren't quite ready to wake up yet.

Looking towards the door and his disruptive guest, Haymitch smacked his lips together and brushed at the edges of his mouth with his thumb. The Avox watched him carefully, hands resting over their chest as they held something close.

"Well, what poor soul sent you as my wakeup call?" He asked gruffly, shadows of a nightmare lingering in the corners of his drug addled mind. The Games monitor was calling to him and he knew he shouldn't dawdle but he figured someone would wake him if the alliance was crumbling.

Stepping forward carefully, the Avox held out their hand and passed him the small crisp papered note. Hand shaking slightly, he nodded in receipt and pulled himself to his feet.

This was it.

Re-entering the Mentor's Chambers Haymitch moved towards his seat deftly, barely sparing a look towards the other mentors who filled the whitewashed room. Some of them knew what was coming. Some had refused to acknowledge it. Others were fighting it. He couldn't blame any of them for their choices.

Sitting down heavily, he turned the card over in his palm and read the neat script while his tracking system returned to operations.

"_Tea in the lobby at ten. Don't be late_. _P._"

The script was clear, pointed.

Today was the day they broke out of the Capitol's grip and started the war that would likely destroy Panem. Today was the day they destroyed the arena and saved his friends, his Tributes.

Setting the card back on the table Haymitch turned to his screen and pulled the headphones back into place. He watched as those on the ground planned and prepared, as they nibbled at the Sponsor gifts and moved with the clock of the arena. The hours seemed to drag on, slowing more with every minute that passed. Finally, as he watched Finnick lead the group into the jungle once again, Haymitch pulled himself to his feet and glanced around him.

The mentors here were safe, for the most part. Those that knew anything were prepared for what was coming or had their own ways out. He needed to go meet his pickup though or when his feisty girl woke up on that hovercraft there'd be no talking her down from whatever fool action she may attempt. That was his role in this.

Giving one last look as he stood over his chair, Haymitch watched as Katniss and Peeta moved slowly with the group through the trees. He could see it without much trying that she was getting antsy, barely trusting her alliance at this point. The boy, always reliable, was keeping a steady course though who knew what was really working those gears of his. With one last squeeze of the leather cushion he pulled away from his command and headed for the door.

"You're not cleared to leave during live broadcast hours." The Peacekeeper standing guard stepped in front of the door and glared at him.

"I've got a meet and greet with Plutarch, you damn well better believe I'm cleared to leave," he threatened in return even though the hair on the nape of his neck rose with nervous suspicion. The Peacekeeper turned slightly and spoke into his radio, his gaze averted and his voice lowered. He didn't bother to apologize when he stepped away from the door and allowed him passage.

The echoing hallways were barren as he moved towards the lift, stepping inside and trying to calm his nerves. It'd been years since he'd felt anything but the haze of liquor in his veins and now he was being punished by the adrenaline and the anxiety. With every floor that beeped past, his heart rate picked up and his saliva disappeared.

He didn't even remember stepping past the lift doors before his arm was jerked forward and Peacekeepers lined him on both sides.

Not a word was uttered from his lips as he was lead outside and away from where he was to meet the Head Gamemaker. His breath huffed and his heart raced, fear that the plan was falling apart and he couldn't save anyone coursed through him. The torturing didn't much scare him – he'd survived years of the Capitol's brand of torture already – it was the thought that they wouldn't get out of the Arena. That all the riling and the planning had been for naught.

It was over.

It was ending.

It was failing.

Thrown in the back of a vehicle, Haymitch stared silently into the masks of the Peacekeepers, daring them to speak.

"What got me this lovely reception?" He asked tightly, his voice never wavering. The suited men didn't respond, instead remaining stock still and watching him through their blacked out masks. There wasn't much he could do but clench his fists and remain in his seat as the car took off down the Capitol streets.

The drive didn't take long, ending far before the quiet could unnerve him too much.

"Out." One the men grunted from beneath their mask, shifting their rifle in the direction of the door. Haymitch glared in return, grinding his teeth and remaining seated.

"If you're going to kill me, why do it on the street? Isn't that a bigger mess to clean up?" He barked, daring them to force him out. He knew if he got out here they were going to waste him without a second thought. They couldn't do it near where the mentors were – that was too suspicious – but out here was perfect.

"_Out_." The voice called again just before the Peacekeeper closest to him pushed open the door.

He refused to move. They'd just have to wipe his blood from the slick leather seats.

There was a groan as the two Peacekeepers looked toward each other, no words exchanged before there was a nod, a lunge, and everything went black.

* * *

><p>He woke to a gentle hum beneath him. His head hurt and he was pressed into something cool and hard. It took a moment before his eyes could open, before his vision caught up and the blurriness dissipated. Looking around, ignoring the dizziness, he recognized first the fact that he was on a hovercraft. Second to that, he knew <em>this<em> had been in the plan.

The grab had been planned.

"Dammit Plutarch," he murmured to himself and swung his feet over the edge of the cot that was built into the hull of the ship. His vision swam for a moment as his body righted itself and he had to grip the metal tightly.

When finally he was able to stand, Haymitch moved slowly through the cabin and down the narrow hallways towards what he only assumed would be near the front of the ship. He hadn't been on a hovercraft this old since his Games and he really had no sense of direction in the windowless rooms.

It took getting lost twice and ending up in dead end closets before he fell into a room of people all sitting around a table filled with telephones and maps and a digital diagram that looked exactly like the arena.

"Oh good, you've made it. We were wondering when you would wake up," a woman with a severe haircut smiled tightly at him from her place at the table.

"Where's Plutarch?" He growled, anxiety and frustration bubbling to the surface. He knew he should keep his cool – this part had always been the 'move with the flow' part of the plan – but he was going to be on edge until his Tributes were safe. That was what was important right now. That's what Plutarch had agreed to. Tributes. Victors. Rebellion.

"Haymitch Abernathy, I'm President Alma Coin of District 13." The woman eyed him carefully before she stood up and marched toward him with her hand outstretched. He took it reluctantly, surprised at her grip but unwilling to show weakness. "We're monitoring the progress of the mission and will rendezvous with the other craft when appropriate. Plutarch Heavensbee will be presented when he is secured. Until then you report to me. Understood?"

It didn't quite sit right with him though he knew he should expect this. Of course there were players in this that he would have to handle, even some that made his skin crawl. But this woman made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up without even trying.

That's why when he agreed, he did so reluctantly, nodding instead of vocalizing his position of subordinance.

"Now, it's nearly twelve in the arena. Come sit." Alma instructed and returned to her seat at the table nearest the glowing arena replica.

Moving closer he could see the glowing lights, the colours representing the districts as they moved through the trees. Plain as day he notice first one, then the other, glowing lights for Katniss and Peeta and he released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Even that short time away from the monitor had made his anxiety double for his Tributes.

Though Haymitch knew very well that it wasn't smart to become invested in the people, he couldn't help but see these two as more than just rebellion symbols. The girl was so much like him during his Games, so much fire and whip, that he knew she was where the bets would be placed. The boy – how could he even describe him? So unlike any other Tribute he'd come across, the boy was ready to die and in doing so save someone else's life. He'd worked his cards so hard without Haymitch even being aware that they were being played and when he'd realized it, it was already too late to temper the fire that he was building.

Haymitch doubted even Katniss was aware that the fire had been fanned from a small spark by the boy's words alone.

He'd hated every moment that he directed Sponsors gifts and support towards the girl, not because he wanted one to live over the other, but because with every action he made keeping her alive he knew he was destroying something uniquely pure.

That's why he'd reached out on a last whim for the lover's play. It'd been set up perfectly before the start of the Games but he had to hold his tongue and see how it built among the Capitol people. When the iron was hot, he struck, cornering Seneca Crane and tossing the first stone.

He hadn't known then what he was starting, not really. He'd only hoped to bring them both home, if he could.

And he had.

He remembered waiting on that shiny new ship as his Tributes – no, his Victors – were brought on board. He remembered the blood from the boy's leg coating everything as his body was rushed to medical. He remembered his heart in his throat at the idea that he'd been too late.

It might have only been for a minute, but he couldn't deny that he'd thought it was a mistake to save the girl – to save the version of himself that he knew and understood so well – over the boy who'd been ready to die.

Looking down at the glowing lights as they begin to move quickly through the trees, Haymitch wondered once again if his emphasis on the girl as priority was the right decision. _She_ was the fire, but together they were the raging inferno. He wanted them both. He selfishly wanted to do right by the boy for all those times he wasn't chosen despite his worth.

But the rebels had spoken. They wanted _her_ because she was the volunteer. She was the fire that when fanned grew to be a beacon for the districts and everyone knew it was the districts who needed to rebel. The rebellion only cared about the boy to keep the girl happy. They didn't care that he drew the Capitol fiends to their feet or that his golden tongue made them pay attention. That didn't matter to them. Still, he hoped.

"They're moving. Alert the wire that go time is imminent," Coin ordered, drawing Haymitch's wavering attention back to the table.

When the first quickly moving District 12 light was doused, his heart stuttered.

"Where'd it go?" He blurted out, getting to his feet quickly as his gaze swept the room of drawn faces. Nobody moved as another light in the arena flickered out. Beetee. "What the fuck is happening down there!" His shouts were ignored as the team began to move and turn to their stations. His breath was tight in his chest as he pounded on the desk and drew the eyes of a few. "Answer me!" He burst.

The hand on his arm was unexpected and he lashed out in response as his nerves frayed quickly. He didn't even have the chance to expect the hit to his clavicle or the push on his shoulder forcing him to the floor.

"This is part of the plan, Abernathy. We can't very well have them brought in with trackers in their arms, now can we?" Coin mocked with a hint of laughter in her voice as she stood over him. A flick of her hand seen in the shadows before him signalled their release of his arms and he pulled himself back to his feet. "Sit still and be quiet or I'll remove you from command," she threatened under her breath before turning away quickly.

He knew his place. He wasn't a fool. It was the fatigue of following orders and the moment before him that made him lash out.

They were _this_ close.

"Lightning struck. Oh – " A man shouted from the corner of the room, his progress report halted with a gasp.

Haymitch could only clench the armrests of his chair, his breathing stopped as he waited for word from the pickup hovercraft.

"The arena – it's – it's falling." There was an awe to it, almost like they hadn't expected the collapse to be magnificent.

"Send out the pickup to the last known location of the Mockingjay," Coin ordered brusquely. Silently Haymitch hoped the boy had been with her, that he hadn't been foolish enough to get separated this late in the game.

Closing his eyes, he focused in on the room surrounding him, the voices moving through the air and filling up his mind. Each new piece of information bombarded him and he tried to sift through the chaos of the room at large but it was no use. There was too much code. It wasn't clear.

When the hovercraft finally landed on some grassy plain in some district he couldn't quite identify, Haymitch was out the door quicker than he thought possible. It took a moment before the gates were lowered but when they were he boarded the other ship with quick feet that carried him straight into the arms of a waiting guard.

"Clearance?" The guard prompted, his hands held tight in restraint as Haymitch struggled.

"Let go of me you fucking piece of shit – where are they?" He grunted and his body lurched forward towards the passing team within the ship. He didn't have to struggle for long before he heard the heavy hum of the hovercraft taking off that caused him pause. It was another moment before the voice of Heavensbee broke into his desperate mind.

"Ah, Haymitch!" The larger man greeted too brightly for his liking.

He hadn't seen what happened in the arena. He needed to know if they were safe. He needed to know _now_.

"Let him pass," Plutarch ordered, his hand waving absently towards the guard. "Turn left and go to the end. Medical bay in these old ships is always in the stern – "

The man didn't even finish his sentence before Haymitch broke out of the guard's grasp and made his way towards the rear of the ship. With every step forward he took he could feel his heart racing. He hadn't even opened the door to the bustle of medical personnel within the room before the ship was back in the air and heading off towards what he only hoped would be District 13. Towards promised safety.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there watching the bright white coats move throughout the room. There were too many of them to truly get a look at who had been recovered from the arena and it was killing him to not know.

"We got her out, Haymitch," Plutarch spoke from behind him, startling his already tense mind and making him snap back rashly.

"Of course you did or we wouldn't be having this conversation," he barked in reply. He was more worried about the rest of them. He couldn't help it.

"She didn't seem to have too many injuries. Lost some blood with the tracker being removed, I'm told, but otherwise general Games issued fare. Looked surprised when she got here so you might want to hang around for when she finally wakes up." Turning towards the man Haymitch couldn't help the blistering look he shot him. _Of course_, he wanted to growl, but he knew it wasn't worth the effort. This man was on his side. They were working for the same thing.

"What about the others?" Haymitch asked lowly, his fists clenched at his side as he prepared for the worst.

"They got Enobaria, though she doesn't have anything to give them. Johanna is a different story, but she'll fight. We did get Finnick and Beetee out, which is very good for the cause," he paused for a moment and Haymitch could feel the air spark around him. "Chaff was taken down by Brutus in the final moments, and Peeta got Brutus in the end."

That made him turn, his brow lifted in surprise at the thought that Peeta had killed a veritable threat. The surprise though wasn't mirrored in Plutarch's expression. Instead he remained staring into the room as Haymitch asked the question he'd secretly worried about the most.

"Where's the boy?"

Plutarch simply shook his head at the glass before slowly turning to him.

"Capitol picked him up before we could get to him."

The words burned into him, their meaning buzzing heavily in his ears like the white noise of the television in the wee hours of the morning. He sucked in a breath and rolled his tongue along his teeth. There was a bad taste in his mouth, one of iron and guilt and regret.

_No_.

Pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the stinging of unshed tears Haymitch reared himself in tightly, strapping it down inside of him like a fighter to a gurney.

"Keep her under as long as you can – I need a drink," he muttered and wandered off down the hallway.

* * *

><p>The thoughts haunted him. He couldn't shake them – not the images or the sounds that flooded through his mind at the idea of what the Capitol was doing to the boy. Thankfully he didn't know much.<p>

_Thankfully_ – ha. It wasn't good enough. They still had him and they'd still torture him. The one who didn't do anything but be willing to die.

It ate at him with every passing minute. Every hour that he sat in the command room and listened to Plutarch lay out his plans in detail. It wasn't until Finnick tracked in looking worse than after any appointment he'd seen that he started to come back to a level mind.

This was war.

"Don't be stupid. That's the worst thing you could do. Get her killed for sure. As long as you're alive, they'll keep her alive for bait," he attempts, trying to convince Finnick why he shouldn't just kill himself to save his girl Annie. The conversation had been tearing at him since it'd started twenty minutes ago and all he could think of was how he'd have to tell the girl where Peeta was.

Like speaking of the devil, he watched dumbly as Katniss stumbled through the door as though summoned by his thoughts.

"Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?" He keens, though you'd never be able to tell his voice nearly broke at the quip. He's the first to move when her body starts to sway just before she tries to launch herself at him and everyone else at the table. The move is almost too much like him for comfort as he sees the syringe in her grip. "So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans. Drop it," he growls threateningly and presses at the pressure point of her wrist until the glass cracks against the floor.

Steering the girl into a seat he seats himself across from her and takes a moment to gather himself as Plutarch places food before her. His stomach rolls and the bile pitches in his gut.

"Katniss," he pauses until her eyes meet his. "I'm going to explain what happened. I don't want you to ask any questions until I'm through. Do you understand?" With her absent nod he begins recounting every detail of the plan, including what Plutarch has filled him in on during the flight. He tells her about the districts and their rebellion, about the keystones in the arena, everything he can to make her understand the importance of just why things have happened the way they have.

He wants so desperately for her to understand why they have the boy and not her.

As the conversation moves forward, he watches the understanding flash upon her features. It comes to her slowly – he can see almost the exact moment when she realizes that something isn't quite right.

"Peeta," her voice is small, moving into the fissures in his soul and cracking it slowly.

"The others kept Peeta alive because if he died, we knew there'd be no keeping you in an alliance and we couldn't risk leaving you unprotected." The words gut him as they pass through his lips. He feels his heart slow and his chest clench painfully.

"Where's Peeta?" She snarls and he knows that it happens now. It all breaks now.

"He was picked up by the Capitol along with Johanna and Enobaria," he admits quietly. He can't look at her. Not with that look in her eyes, like he's betrayed her and he's worth nothing.

He _is_ worth nothing. He couldn't save the boy. The one who all along should have been saved.

The moment dissolves into violence so telling of Victors as she lunges at him and gouges at his eyes. He lets her fingernails rip into his skin before the yelling begins.

It starts with "You broke your promise, Haymitch," and he responds that he knows, "that it's for the best, that he was willing" and everything that he has to tell himself to get through these moments. But it's not enough and soon she's screaming that she wishes "they were dead, that you should have been the one to die in the arena!" And it's all he can do not to cry filthy weak tears as Finnick and others pull her from the room while all he can say is that he's "sorry we lost the boy."


	53. Whiskey Dick

_AN: Written for things and things. WickedlyClever did a wonderful job beta'ing this for me (because I still have trouble with my bad grammar and the whole laying/lying thing) so send some love that way. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

><p>The first time it happens, I'm fifteen and on a camping trip with Katniss' family out in the middle of nowhere. The three of us - Prim, Katniss and I - are sharing a tent. The temperature has somehow dropped below whatever and I'm <em>freezing<em>; I mean, really, actually shivering, until my legs feel numb from the cold. I didn't bring the right sleeping bag, I guess, and now I'm paying for it while I curl into myself against the edge of the tent.

"Peeta?" Katniss' voice floats over my shoulder. I tense, my body reacting to her instantly. _Shit_, _I didn't mean to wake her up_. Her hand taps my shoulder, and I turn my head reluctantly to offer her a tight smile in the dark.

"Sorry," I start, my tongue thick behind my frozen lips. She's twisting over towards me, her torso remaining tucked against Prim's on the other side. I can't help but notice it doesn't look like a comfortable position.

"Shh, just get closer for warmth, okay? It'll help, and then you don't have to be over there shivering all night."

I stare at her blankly, sure that my mouth is hanging open some. I mean, I get what she's saying, but let's be honest here – her parents would _not_ be happy to find me pressed up against her in the morning, let alone if my body has a mind of its own (like it more awkwardly seems to, as of late).

"N-no, I'm f-fine," I reply through chattering teeth, which I realize seems even more ridiculous now. In the bright moonlight shining through the tent roof, I watch as she simply rolls her eyes before smacking at my sleeping bag.

"Don't be stupid. Come keep me warm," she insists before turning back towards Prim. I stare for a second as she curls back around her sister, her toque the only thing visible outside of her sleeping bag, before rolling over towards her slowly.

At first I try to keep my distance. I tuck my head and pillow against her shoulders with my hips and legs nearly a foot away, but the warmth is just too tempting. Next thing I know, I'm pressing my legs into the crux of hers, my arm resting on her side as my larger frame folds over her. _Oh god, please don't move tonight_, I hope to myself. I know, I _know_, that if she spends the night squirming it won't be good.

It doesn't take me long to fall asleep after that anyway.

* * *

><p>Prim's the first one awake. She's so quiet; neither of us notices her slip from the tent. I don't even wake up until I'm startled by Katniss' knees connecting with, well, my morning wood, to be blunt. She doesn't do it on purpose - that I can tell, anyway - by the way her eyes open in shock when I hiss and swear, rolling away and onto my back.<p>

It's her giggles that _really_ make me realize why her movement brought me awake so quickly. Looking down, I catch sight of the tent I'm creating inside the tent, and my face burns like a thousand suns. "Don't laugh!" I mumble and roll until I'm facing away from her, desperate to hide my face.

"Oh, come on Peeta," Katniss gasps, her hand falling on my shoulder as she laughs heartily. "Don't worry about it."

"Ugh – just give me a minute."

"Fine, okay. Just keep facing that way; I need to get dressed." I have to squeeze my eyes shut, trying to wipe the images out of my head. Katniss is my _friend_. I can't – _this is so wrong_.

"You're killing me here, Kat," I grumble and try to curl into myself to stifle the blood flow to my groin. It doesn't help, not even a little; not with the sound of her clothes rustling as she changes in her sleeping bag.

This is normal. This happens more often than it should. My parents wouldn't let Katniss come within ten feet of my tent if we were with them, but not her parents – nope, they are so _trustworthy_, which is good but so, _so_ bad as well. To say I've _noticed_ Katniss is putting it lightly. I can't keep her out of my dreams. My thoughts. Anything. She's like a permanent fixture that both riles me up and runs me down without even trying.

"Done! See you at breakfast," she says, breaking me from my runaway thoughts. A moment after I hear the zip of the tent door close, I roll onto my back and breathe a sigh of relief. I need to calm down then go take a walk and _deal with this_.

Sucking in a deep breath, I sit up and run my hands down my face in exhaustion. _Great. Still have two days left on this trip_.

* * *

><p>I stop sharing tents with Katniss Everdeen in all ways possible over the next few years. We're still friends – hell, likely <em>best<em> friends, for all categorical matters – but I just can't get caught like that anymore. I try to move on when she gets close to Gale Hawthorne, but nothing seems to work out. The only girl I want is her, and she's paired off with tall, dark and brooding.

I keep trying to deal with it, but it really fucking sucks.

I'm not surprised when we begin to grow apart during senior year. It was inevitable, if I had to tell the truth. The moment I walked in on her and Gale at a party at the end of junior year, I knew I had to step back. It crushed me. I couldn't help it. The conversations stopped, the carpooling stopped – everything _stopped_.

She didn't like it at all. Katniss never took well to change, but I had to do it for my sanity and for every goddamn time I got blue balls just _thinking_ about her.

It was probably her absolute quick-tempered frustration that had her hiding out in my closet after school one day for some god-awful reason. I don't even know how she got there – I left before her – but somehow she was there, undetected, when I came home to _manage_ myself for the afternoon.

Let's be perfectly clear here – I don't _need_ to manage; it just makes it far easier to relax and get through the hellish family dinner that my mother always insists on. And hey, it's fun too.

At least it was fun until Katniss' name slipped from my lips as I emptied myself onto my stomach and I heard her too-familiar gasp from the closet door. I froze, my body tensing up and the relaxation that was _supposed_ to set in started dissipating immediately.

"Katniss?" I hissed, tucking myself back in and wiping my stomach clear with my discarded t-shirt. Moving from my place on the bed, I stalked towards the closet and pulled the door open to reveal her kneeling on the floor with her knuckle between her teeth.

I think I nearly passed out.

"Sorry!" Her shout surprised me and I stepped back, staggered even, as she bolted past me and through my bedroom door. I stood there for who knows how long, staring at the empty hallway down which she had just escaped.

"Shit."

She wouldn't meet my eyes until winter semester.

* * *

><p>Prom. After party. How on earth did I get talked into this fiasco?<p>

Yes. I went to prom with precious Delilah-fucking-Cartwright. Don't get me wrong; she's nice, she's hot, but her hand down my pants is one step drunker than I'd prefer her to be right now.

Escaping from her clutches, I head out of Cabin 3 and wander onto the parking lot that joins the 10 cabins of the 'resort' our student council had rented for the weekend. The sky overhead is clear, the air murky with humidity, as I consider another beer from the keg they've set up in the corner of the lot. Watching for a moment, I laugh as the varsity basketball team practices their keg stands before vetoing the option and heading into the 'Bob Marley' cabin as they've so aptly nicknamed it.

The air inside is thick – too thick – and I have to blink a few times to even see through the haze. Scanning the room, my eyes land on Katniss who's tapping her fingers on her knee absently, her face bordering on pure frustration, as she watches Gale take another hit from the freely passed bong.

It's not hard to decide that I don't quite belong here. Ducking back out, I head straight for the shots table and grab at a bottle of whiskey, ignoring the shouts of protest as I head towards the cabin with the flashing lights. I _know_ I can get lost there.

Sucking back two deep swigs, I step inside and am bombarded with a bass beat that echoes in my bones. Taking in the sight I swallow another gulp and make my way into the crowd to effectively lose myself in the crush of bodies.

I'm not a dancer. I'm actually terrible at dancing. But with this many people and this much free alcohol, I _know_ nobody is paying attention. That's why I finally let go and let myself sway and shift with the bodies around me. I let the alcohol run through my blood and burn my skin, flushing me until I feel like I'm on fire.

It's a damn good fire.

The song must change five, maybe six times before I notice hands running up my sides as a body presses against my back. It feels good – hell, no, it feels fucking _fantastic_ – so I grip the hands and hold them in my own with the bottle of whiskey, relishing in the way the girl behind me rests her head between my shoulder blades and moves with my body.

We dance like that for another song before I turn, my hazy eyes landing on an all-too-familiar face before I move away and make contact with another body.

"Hey! Watch it!" a voice shouts and I stumble forward, my semi-drunken legs wobbling as my eyes stay locked on Katniss'.

"What?" I yell when I see her lips move. I can't hear what she says through the beat of the music but I see her laugh before offering her hand towards me. I stare at it for a moment, my gaze locked on her extended fingers as bodies bump and slide next to me.

It's been months since we talked. I don't know what to even _say to her_.

I take her outstretched hand anyway and let her lead me outside and into the night. She stops just off the right of the porch, watching me as I grip the banister until my knuckles are white.

"Hi," I croak, my voice crackling from the shouting I must have been doing inside that cabin. Her smile grows out of its typical scowl.

"Can we go somewhere to talk?" she asks hesitantly. My mind buzzes as my head nods 'yes' without my permission.

I trail behind as she heads towards a cabin near the entrance, far from where our fellow students are gathering and chatting, drinking and dancing to music blaring from a scattered radio in someone's car. Standing on the threshold with the whiskey still in my grip, I watch as she sits with a sigh on the sketchy fold-out bed.

"You can come in, you know," she prompts with a nod towards the door. I shut it sheepishly and sit in the plastic chair that's under the window. I don't have to be sober to know that if I were to sit on that bed with her, I would have serious difficulties not making a move.

Hell, sitting in this _chair_ I have to repeatedly tell myself she's with Gale. _She's with Gale_. Gale. Not me.

It barely helps so I shift and avert my eyes from where they're falling on the crest of her breasts through her thin shirt.

"Peeta, look, I'm sorry about what happened...and everything," she starts. I watch out of the corner of my eye as she moves until her feet are tucked under her and she's sitting fully on the bed sans shoes. "Are you going to talk to me or just sit there awkwardly?"

I jolt at her words and meet her gaze carefully, desperate not to give myself away.

"What exactly do you want from me?" I ask evenly, careful not to let my voice give me away. I want her to say everything I've wanted to hear since I realized that this was more than just awkward boners on camping trips. It's now or never. School's over. After this we move on. This _is it_.

"Can you – will you sit with me?" It's a quiet whisper, one barely heard over the ruckus happening outside. But I can't deny it now that I've heard it. I join her on the bed, taking a swig from the bottle and savouring the burn as my legs hang off the side, and she rests a hand on my shoulder. "I miss you."

Next it's her chin, her breath casting a spell over me as it escapes along the nape of my neck. I feel my pants tighten in reaction and I pull another swig before her hand pulls the bottle away from me.

"Stop that or you'll get whiskey dick," she mumbles, leaning against me as I fight to remain sitting. Clenching my hands together, I try to remain unaffected. I try not to touch her as her body shifts closer. I _try_ to respect her boundaries and the fact that she's with Gale. _Gale. Gale. Gale_.

I can't. I can't resist it.

Rising to my feet, I step away quickly as her body tumbles into the spot that I've just vacated. I stuff my hands in my pockets forcefully, my jeans rubbing against the growing bulge in my crotch.

"I miss you too, Katniss, but we can't do this – you're with Gale and you _know_ how I feel and this can't be just a – a variety fuck or a thrill for you. I can't do that. I can't – "

"Stop!" Her shout interrupts me and my mouth snaps shut instantly. "I'm not _with Gale_. We haven't been together since –" She stops abruptly and looks up at me with wide eyes.

We both know what she's saying; since she hid out in my closet.

"I've been trying to talk to you for weeks –"

"I've been right here, Katniss," I interject solidly, needing to state that even though we've grown apart, I was _always_ there for her.

"You've walked in the other direction from me, Peeta Mellark, and don't you lie about it," she snaps back. I shrug listlessly and pick at the hem of my shirt. "I just – I don't want this to be it for us," she tries again and I see her move until she's standing before me, her head tilted to catch my gaze.

"I don't want this to be it for us either," I reply weakly, and the words are barely out of my mouth before she's pushing me against the wall and sucking my bottom lip into her mouth. A groan echoes throughout the dismal cabin as her hands slip around my back and down to my ass, pulling me flush against her. Instinctively, my hips jerk away from the contact.

"Don't; I like it," she laughs and pulls me close again, only this time I go with it.

I get lost in the taste of her, my mouth moving against hers like a man possessed, taking and giving without restraint. Before I even realize, I'm taking control and backing us towards the bed, laying her out and climbing above her until my hips rest against hers and my swollen cock revels in the warm heat that radiates from between her legs.

"You taste like whiskey," she whimpers as we shift and grind, our mouths coming together and moving again. Our hips press and shift as our hands find purchase on each other's skin. My shirt is the first to go, baring my chest for her nails as they scrape down my ribs. I can't stop the hiss or the way my hand jerks her leg over my hip at the contact and I push myself harder against her.

"Pants – take off your pants," Katniss growls into my ear, nipping at the skin along my neck. I rid her of her own shirt and bra first while she claws at my belt. With my pants shucked and my boxers thoroughly tented, I stare down at her exposed chest and lick my lips slowly.

"Take them off," I instruct, motioning towards her pants with my hand slowly before cupping myself through the cotton of my boxers. I stand at the edge of the bed, my hand lazily squeezing as she shimmies out of her jeans and tosses them to the floor. I watch her as her eyes trace my movements, her gaze lingering over my hand and burning into me fiercely.

She doesn't make a peep.

My mind refuses to acknowledge that my legs have carried me to the bed - or that her arms have wrapped around my waist - before I'm lying on the mattress with her legs straddling my hips and her core rubbing against me. I can feel her dampness through the fabric and it only fires me up until my hands find her hips and my lips clasp onto her breast. Her chest rises and falls abruptly, a gasp echoing throughout the room, while my teeth pull at her nipple with a quick pinch. She jolts, her fingers winding through my hair, before she moves her center until the head of my cock catches and nearly attempts to penetrate through our layers of cloth.

"Get it _off_," I grunt and pull my boxers down until I jut out towards her. I watch as her eyes widen in surprise, taking in the sight of me as the tip points hard and red before her.

"I didn't – it's bigger – I thought maybe you were drunk and this would be more difficult," she rambles as she rolls onto her back and pulls her panties off. I lose my boxers completely and kneel above her, my hands softly running from stomach to thighs as her muscles tense and release below my fingers.

"Katniss," I murmur, uncharacteristically tender while my heart beats in my throat. "You're sure?" _Oh god, I hope she's sure_.

She answers with a quick nod, her hand wrapping around my cock and pulling it towards her. I pause for just a moment, leaning awkwardly off the bed and pulling at the wallet in my pants pocket.

"Let me," she gestures, pulling the condom from my hands and tearing at the package. She doesn't even hesitate before pinching the tip and rolling it down, looking up at me with a shit-eating grin that melts my heart.

We fall together after that. My lips find hers as her hands guide me towards her. Sliding into her I nearly cry out at the wet heat that surrounds me, the feeling of completeness bubbling in my chest. My hands tangle in her hair as I begin to move, and she wraps her legs around me, pulling me infinitely deeper into her.

Together we roll and twist and shift. She takes a turn on top, her hand falling and rubbing against her clit until I replace it with my own. I move by her sounds, bringing her to the edge until she falls over and her walls clench against me. When her body collapses onto mine, I roll her onto her back and slip down until my fingers fill her and my tongue brings her once more to the brink. I feel her body twitch against my mouth as the mix of sweet tang and slightly rubbery taste fills me.

"Fuck, Peet," she groans as the second wave crashes over her. For just a moment I thank the girls I practiced with for allowing me to get it _really fucking right_ when it counted.

When her fingers once again lace through my hair, I allow her to pull me up and guide me back inside her. I take it slower this time, her frantic rush appeased and my need to taste her sated. Every so often I'll feel her walls clench against me in aftershock and bite my own lip to hold off.

But there's no stopping it when she asks me to come for her.

I do it with vigor, my body thrusting into her until we're nearly hitting the headboard and her moans are loud enough to wake the dead. With one final push I bury myself inside of her as my body tenses and I empty out. I barely notice the way her arms and legs wrap around me, trapping my head against her shoulder as I gasp for air.

We lay like that for who knows how long, our bodies thrumming as the blood pumps through our veins. I'm careful to pull out slowly, gripping the latex and discarding it in the trash bin beside the bed before lying back down.

"Remember that time you got that boner while we were camping?" Katniss asks, breaking the careful silence with a laugh. I feel my face flush red despite how naked we are right now. "I think I knew then it'd always be you."

Turning my head at her words I watch her for any sign of a lie, any hint of a joke, but there is none. Only clear grey eyes stare back at me.

"I think I knew then too; only I had that awkward boner to deal with first."


	54. Pick Up

_AN: For hotpielookedlikehotpie who submitted this prompt ("It was her death that played in his head over and over, and Peeta Mellark is sure that he'll never get over Katniss Everdeen. Until he starts seeing her throughout his day. But are ghosts real?") to SF and I just couldn't get over it so I wrote this (with her permission). _

_"The mind is tricky. The mind is fragile. The mind can't handle a dead line. **Warning: MCD, this ain't a happy one folks.** **Also, this one deals with suicide and difficult themes, if you want to talk, I'm always available through PM or I highly recommend IMAlive which is an online support service or the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK (8255)**  
><em>

* * *

><p>"Pick up, pick up, pick up."<p>

It's a chant that's almost religiously ceremonial on these dark nights. The ones where the moon light doesn't quite reach the chair he perches on against the kitchen wall.

The loneliness starts to creep in and he can feel how cold his toes are as they touch on the ceramic flooring that the Capitol laid with such precision all those years ago. The house creaks its haunting rhythm as the line rings repeatedly and the clouds pass in the night sky.

"_Pick up_," he moans weakly, his palm grasping his face and his fingers pressing into his eye sockets. He sees red through the pressure and sighs heavily, dropping the phone back into the latch and running his hands along the back of his neck before squeezing until the skin reddens.

He sits for an hour, breathing steady and body prone, before heading up to his room and curling into his cold sheets.

* * *

><p>"Ten coins for the chicken."<p>

He hands over twelve coins and nods to the woman with greasy skin and greying hair. He's learned not to judge here in the Hob – or at least what was rebuilt of the Hob - the old one burnt with the district and his family so long ago now.

"Boy, you're setting a bad standard here. You'll get a reputation," Haymitch warns from behind him. He wasn't sure the stink of liquor was his old mentor or another resident of the district who was still managing to drown themselves in the clear liquid.

Things had changed since the bombings. Since the war. Since everything. People had come back from District 13 like expected, but they'd come back hollowed out. There was still a particular Seam thread but the Merchant kind was gone, nearly wiped out by the bombs and the ashes stomped down by bitter survivors. Now the Hob thrived, struggle was the norm, and the ache of living could be seen in everyone's gaze.

The Capitol had fallen. That much was true.

"It's not my fault they waste their government coins on me. The least I can do is not store them away." He responds and pulls the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "What are you doing out today?"

The old man shrugs listlessly and stares over his shoulder, never quite making eye contact.

"Needed things."

It's then that he catches sight of the familiar long braid snapping through the small crowd of people. The owner has her back to him, their frame hidden beneath a thick worn leather jacket while they stand stock still and speaking to no one in particular.

He takes a step forward and the harassing buzz from the dropped line hisses in his ear.

Looking around the kitchen he replaces the phone and cracks his neck to the side trying to rid himself of the kink that's paining him and the dream fogging his mind.

"Just fucking _pick up_," he mumbles and stomps from the kitchen like a petulant child.

* * *

><p>"What are you doing here?"<p>

She sits at his kitchen table, her hands clasped before her and her hair dishevelled as it coils around her thin frame. She doesn't look at him and he doesn't step towards her.

There's a line between them now, a cavernous distance that can never be crossed. It's like every time he sees her the room fades from his vision and it's only _her_ there, waiting but never acknowledging. It's been like this since the Capitol. Since Snow and Coin and the whole filthy mess at the end of the war.

"I can't deal with this today." He murmurs and returns to his bed and his cold sheets and the room with its lock where she never shows her face.

* * *

><p>Every night she comes to him in his dreams. Some nights they're from the train, others from the Quell, some foggy from the war. Those are the worst because he's just not sure. Is she real? Did that happen or has the Capitol tainted it? He can't tell because there's no one to test – no one alive who knows the answers that plague his dreams.<p>

Some nights he doesn't sleep at all, just to hide from himself.

It seems like the biggest tease, the sweet release of sleep to sink into when your body is so tired of hurting, but for him it's never what he expects. The pain only intensifies, pulling him under and holding him there as though he was once again drowning at the Capitol's hands.

It never stopped. There was no escape.

Sometimes on days where he'd walk past her house he'd see her shadow in the window, haunting him and taunting him. Those days he'd lie in bed for hours, debating whether the memories he would have while asleep would be worth the inevitable dreams. Sometimes it was worth the risk.

An hour of happy pleasure before the water-boarding of her at her worst kicked in.

He'd wake up wet, as though actually drowning in his memories, but really only covered in his own sweat. Other times he was paralyzed until he watched it all play out – every last bitter second.

* * *

><p>The beeping of a dead line threw him into a panic that he could barely remember. If he had, he'd be ashamed to recall lurching off the stool on which he was perched before clawing at the phone and ripping it from the wall with a flourish. His hands would toss the plastic to the floor before his metal foot would come crashing down, severing the casing with a crunch.<p>

He'd probably remember the way the feeling had vibrated up his leg and into his heart, forcing it to beat wildly as the air disappeared from his lungs.

The memory of crashing across the grass towards Haymitch's house would inevitably be forgotten. Nor would he think of how he'd looked pounding against the heavy wooden door with tears streaking his cheeks.

The look on Haymitch's drunken face, the way it had contorted into indescribable pain, would always flash in his mind's eye no matter how much he longed to forget it.

"I broke it!" He might recall screaming into his mentor's shambled front room. He wouldn't think about the way he'd be barefoot and tracking blood across the hardwood from his torn up feet.

"Broke what?" Haymitch would probably think to ask if they were conversing about this in the future. The man couldn't think it from that night himself – he'd been too far gone to notice anything but the frantic way the boy was moving through the room – but when they talked about it later he'd still want to know before he finished the memory.

"Where is it?" The recollection in Peeta's mind would include the way his voice moaned the question, almost too painful to form words.

"Look kid, I don't – "

"I _need it_!" He might remember screaming as he burst into the kitchen. Clear as day, he would always think about how the phone had looked as it reflected the moonlight off its sheen.

He'd probably forget how he'd fallen asleep with the ear piece near his head as he lay on the cold floor with the old man watching him from a chair. He definitely wouldn't think about how Haymitch had finished a whole bottle of liquor watching him sleep against the wall, or how he'd cursed the boy and the way he suffered so openly. Or the way he'd been tortured just as much when every groan would be the boy asking her to pick up.

She'd never pick up. That was something he always seemed to forget as well.

* * *

><p>Sometimes, on good days as he walked the district he'd see her hiding just beyond the trees. He'd call out to her and watch her braid swish in the light. She'd never answer, but he didn't expect more. Without a thought he'd start talking about his day and how he spent his hours since coming back to the district.<p>

Every breath would be laced with positive thoughts, so distinctly out of character for him now that any passerby would assure others he was crazed and gone mad like poor Annie Cresta from District 4.

But that didn't matter much to him anymore. He waited for these days, for his moments of confession with her hiding in the shadows. They were like cathartic release the way painting had used to be before his images were more violent than anything.

Today he was tossing pebbles against the trunk of a tree as he faced out towards the slowly rebuilding district.

"Why don't you ever pick up anymore?" He asked pitifully under his breath. Never before had he dared to ask point blank but today it had just slipped. No answer came, much like any other question he asked. But he didn't feel anything for it today.

Today he simply pulled himself to his feet and wandered back home.

* * *

><p>The day after he woke up on Haymitch's floor with the press mark of the phone in his cheek he came home from the Hob to find a new phone installed on his kitchen wall. This time it was a pale orange, still plastic and still fragile.<p>

He wanted to pick it up and dial her number, just to see if she'd pick up, but he told himself to wait. Instead he prepared dinner for himself and Haymitch, delivering the crudely cooked meat and potatoes to the old man who was already passed out drunk for the night.

Returning to his home Peeta kicked off his shoes and froze, his body paralyzed at the shadow before him.

She was here.

Stepping closer he tried to inspect but was distracted by the cool touch of her fingers on his arm. Before he knew what was happening they had dragged themselves to the guest room at the top of the stairs where he pulled her close and curled her thin frame in his arms.

"I miss you," he whispered into her hair as his hands slipped along her ribs. It was dark as he pulled her against him and let his body heat surround her. Making slow work of her clothes he laid her out before him and tugged at the thin grey sweats she always wore. When only her under garments remained he slid his nose along her stomach, its tip tracing between her breasts as he kept his eyes closed tightly.

It wasn't until his lips pressed against her neck that his hands found the kinks marked there in her skin and he pushed backwards in surprise. Tumbling off the bed he let a grunt out as he hit the floor. When he sat up and looked towards the top of the mattress once again she was already gone and the phone was ringing.

* * *

><p>Returning from the Capitol after the war had been a shock to his system. For the first week he hadn't even really been able to function, not alone. He'd been deposited at his house in the Victor's Village and left to his own until breakfast the next day. Greasy Sae had arrived with a prepared plate that she'd set on the counter and left for him to consume alone.<p>

He hadn't even gotten out of bed yet.

Breakfast went cold.

It was a few days after his return that he saw her in the shadows of her windows. He'd picked up the phone, a rare action for him, only to dial her number and listen to the tolling on the other end of the line.

That's when his habit started. The line would ring and ring, teasing him as he watched her form in the windows from his house. He never really got up the courage to go over there and see her, not after everything he'd done in the Capitol. No, it was much better to hide out here until he went a longer time without a hijacking episode.

But he missed her, desperately.

They hadn't talked since the day she'd been taken to the prison after her assassination of President Coin. He'd been locked up with doctors and she'd been on trial for treason. It hadn't been possible. All he wanted right now was to talk to her.

She never picked up though.

Until one time it was around breakfast and he picked up the phone just because he hadn't tried this time of day before.

"Hello?" Her voice crackled on the end, distant and tired. His lips fluttered helplessly as he tried to think of something to say. Anything. At all. "Just let me go." Her voice whispered desperately into the line. He sputtered against the dead air before the line on the other end clicked down.

She'd hung up. The sound of the dead line made him fall into a chair at his kitchen table, keeping him there late into the evening as he fought through the demons in his head. When finally he could see through the ghosts, he moved himself to his feet and slowly pulled on his coat as his muscles protested the simple movement.

In a few quick moments he was across the yard, his heavy steps crunching against the crisp grass before settling heavily on the porch wood. He knocked once, twice, his knuckles rapping against the heavy wood. When still no one answered after a moment he glanced through the window off to the side and gazed into her living room.

It was only a shadow that he saw there.

But it was enough.

Heart in his throat, the door was busted off of its hinges as he forced his way into the house. He couldn't breathe, not while his shoes slipped on the tile as he lunged towards the living room.

"Oh, Katniss, _no_," he whispered, his voice croaking as his arms wrapped around her legs and lifted her body up. It didn't work, not how he'd expected and he shattered, his desperation clouding him as he rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a knife and a chair.

He didn't let her fall.

Holding her close as the last tether of the rope gave out under the blade, he lowered her to the floor from where she'd hung from the rafters of her home.

She was cold to the touch.

She was a slight blue.

She had lines on her throat from where the rope had pressed against her flesh.

He thought she'd had tears on her eyes but those were _his_ tears, pouring from him as he sobbed over her.

The man who took her body away from him when Haymitch found them said it'd been a day or two.

"But I just talked to her!" He'd screamed at the man's words.

Nobody had believed him.

Nobody.

Not even Haymitch.

So every night he called her, hoping that just this one time she'd pick up. Maybe say how much she missed him. Tell him where she was. Tell him why she'd done it. Tell him when he could join her.

Every night he called. And she hasn't once picked up.


	55. Cirque

_AN: A PiP Day 3 Challenge - Prompt Response to the Visual: Fair. Kinda sorta Carnivale themed but not really._

* * *

><p><em>Stupid Gale<em>, I think, pulling the pale stained dress further down my thighs though really not doing much at all to preserve any sense of my modesty. I was getting real sick of his shit. I wouldn't even be here had I not needed the cash for food this month. Mama was still sick and Prim was looking thin again and that just wouldn't do. If he'd just let me work the bottle booth like I did every other night, we'd be okay. But no.

"Not tonight, Catnip. We're short in the tents and we need a woman in there," he explained as I tagged along behind him.

"But Gale, you don't want me in there. I ain't got the curves or the 'look'. You know it and I know it and you're just being a fool!" I argued to his back. We were moving quickly through the ramshackle cluster of tents that we'd pegged down not two days ago. We only had three more days in this town before we tore it all down and loaded up the buggy's again before heading further south.

My family had been travelling the Dust Bowl with this carnival since I could remember. Papa used to muscle for the group, bringing us along even though the carnival ain't no place for little girls. Mama refused to stay home and raise us on her lonesome and so travelling we were. It was always exciting, seeing the bulbs flicker up in some new town every week. Prim and I would run the lines and help with the wash while Mama worked tickets.

At least until Papa died with a few other men. The accident had been quick – a dust storm had kicked up out of the west and taken one of the main mast tents down – Papa and a few others including Mr Hawthorne had been struck by a pole while trying to salvage it.

I hadn't cried. I didn't have it in me to cry. Too much dry dust to suck up the water from me. Papa was gone and ain't nothing I could do about it and that's just how it was. At least we still had Mama.

That kind of thinking was fool of me though. When Papa died I was so young, Prim was knee high to a grasshopper and barely able to understand where he'd went. Mama didn't want to do nothing after that. She stopped eating, stopped sleeping – hell, if it weren't for the Hawthornes Prim and I would have disappeared right along with Papa 'cause Mama hadn't paid us any attention.

No, the Hawthornes helped us get by. Mabel Hawthorne argued for us to stick with the group, pleading for an agreement by all that we couldn't just be left out without a man to support us. They let us stick around, only with the agreement that we'd start real work as soon as we were able.

For me that meant picking up any jobs they assigned me. Prim was tasked with caring for the animals and Mama... Well, Mama stayed in our cart.

The first few years were hard. We had to make our own way, struggling to pay into the communal food and putting in the effort to be worth the gas. I thought for sure they was going to leave us behind when I picked up a cough during a cold spell and couldn't pull all our weight. Thankfully the Hawthornes were there to help and took Prim in while I rested. It was a close call, but we got by.

It steadily began to get better, though money was still impossible and paying into the group was still difficult. I started to grow into more jobs, getting better with fixing engines and helping run the games every night. Just last year I moved up to running my own booth and that's where the money gets better because you get to keep half of what you take.

But from what Gale Hawthorne was telling me now that he helped run everything, they were moving me off the booth and into the tents and that was no place I wanted to be.

The tents were our most seedy attractions by any standards. Some housed our oddities, including people like Lola our Bearded Lady, while others drew the gaze of men who huddled into the tents to throw leering looks at the barely clothed women. Sometimes there weren't no clothes at all. Mama had always told me to steer clear of the tents unless I wanted a good whipping when I got back. But she wasn't paying any attention anymore.

"Catnip, you know I ain't got no choice. Bristel is sick and we're already short now that Maggie went and got herself knocked up. I know you don't want to, but orders from the top say you gotta, alright?" Gale replied, turning to me abruptly and frowning sadly at me. I knew that look. It was the one he doled out when he gave pity in heaping portions.

He knew I didn't belong in there, but now that I was eighteen we had no reason to deny Snow, the ringleader, any longer.

"Is Mabel around so I can get something to wear?" I conceded, not able to meet his eyes knowing that I was going to the tents tonight to sell more that a ring toss.

It's only after finding Mabel and pulling on the pale pink dress that I'm cursing Gale for not doing more to turn Snow off of assigning me to the tents. In all reality, he probably tried his best. You did that for best friends. It just still hadn't been enough and now as I stood in the thick dust cloud that swirled around my scuffed boots I was all disappointed that it wouldn't ever be enough. This was just the beginning and I wasn't fool enough to doubt it.

"Mabel said you got reassigned tonight." Jo, one of the other tent girls sneered as she stepped from behind the mess tent wall. Jo wasn't that bad – a little harsh around the edges and incredibly crude – but loyal too. Not only that but she held her ground and kept her mouth shut on secrets. You could see it in her blank eyes.

"Yeah. My Mama would kill me if – " I stopped and looked away angrily. If Mama wasn't so lost maybe I wouldn't have to _be_ in the tents.

"Look Brainless," Jo started, stepping right up in front of me and grabbing a stray piece of hair that'd slipped from my braid. I smacked her hand away and stepped back from her. "If you wanna make a buck, come with me and I'll show you how. Otherwise, run now and don't let Snow catch you."

Pausing, I considered her words while I scuffed my boots in the dirt. We all knew the tents made money but I'd always been warned off them for as long as I could remember. Even Gale, though he frequented them a lot and more importantly frequented Jo a lot, told me I should never volunteer unless it was a demand. And now here I was, being demanded.

I came to that realization just as Jo was slipping back around the mess wall and disappearing.

"Jo!" I shouted quickly, bolting after her and all the way into her cart.

I spent the next two hours having my hair yanked free of all its tangles, my lips painted red and my dirty hands scrubbed clean. The whole time Jo explained how the tents worked, how men paid at the door and filtered in before the show started at seven, eight and nine sharp. Each girl then entered the tent and sashayed across the boards to their stool.

"And you gotta really swing your hips, Brainless, or you won't make the tips," she warned, showing a flick of her own hips. Once all three girls were seated then, she explained, the money started moving. Men could come up to the ticket man and pay for a kiss, an exposed limb, or a flash of some skin. The thought made my stomach roll and Jo only laughed at my discomfort.

"What if –" I choked on my words, my thick tongue getting the better of me. "What if they want – um, more?"

"Well, depends what they pay. Finn, who is in the tent tonight, is pretty good about making it fair. Never lets it get out of hand all the time I've been here. Plus, his girl Annie ain't big on showing too much herself which works for everyone." Jo explained easily, stepping back to admire her handiwork on my makeup. "Now you're ready for selling." She chirped and nodded her head. I could only lick my lips nervously, my palms sweating and my toe tapping. "Look, Kat, just play it sly. They won't come at you if you look like you did it all before, alright?"

Her words were meant to soothe me, I know, but I couldn't get the feeling of fake fingers sliding against my skin or grappling at my legs.

It was only a little while later after mess and before showtime that I stood outside the tent and clutched my arms around my chest. The breath was heaving in my lungs and I could tell my head was getting light.

"Sugar cube?" A man much taller than me with bronzed hair offered, sticking out his hand toward me. I shook my head nervously and bit my cheek instead. "First night?" I nodded and he sighed before bending towards me and gripping my shoulder tightly in his big palm. "I'm Finn. I'll take care, alright? Just keep it together and you can go on last."

My mouth wouldn't work anymore. My heart hammered heavily in my chest as soon Jo and Annie, the other girl assigned tonight, appeared out of nowhere in light spirits and fancy shift dresses. Comparing myself to them, I looked a right mess in my old faded dress and calf boots. Nobody was going to pay for any part of me and I'll have done this for nothing.

"Ready?" Finn asked, pulling his head from the tent wall and looking back towards us. Jo and Annie nodded swiftly while I remained standing apart from them. I watched then as Finn disappeared, Jo following soon after to a series of hoots and hollers from the men inside the tent.

"I'm going to be sick," I mumbled while the catcalls continued. Annie turned to me quickly, patting my head and smiling softly at me with her kind green eyes.

"It'll be over before you know it, okay? It gets easier," she whispered while inside the tent the tone changed and a record was played on the gramophone. When the music stopped, Annie turned from me and moved without hesitation into the wall of the tent, leaving me alone with my panicked thoughts.

I barely heard the record stop over the roaring in my ears and then it was my turn, my wobbly feet carrying me dazed and into the lights of the tent.

* * *

><p>The lights, the sounds – everything was overwhelming here. I'd never been to a carnival before, not at least while Mother had any say. I was eighteen now though and that was <em>exactly<em> where I was going to go with Rye and Charles as soon as one came into town. I didn't have to wait too long – not two weeks after my birthday had one rolled in and setup shop just on the outskirts and far enough away from the church.

We'd all had to listen as Mother snarled her way through another dreary family dinner, her opinions of the carnival folk dripping with loathing despite her never having been to one in her life. Though Father tried to put an end to her rants, we all knew it was pointless. Instead we suffered through, nodding when appropriate and eating as fast as we could.

It was Saturday night when we ventured past the doors of the house and into the night. We were drawn like moths to the flame, our feet carrying us to the edge of town faster than we expected.

I couldn't stop staring at the different colours and scenes before me. Each one told a story, each face drawn with lines that I wanted to paint and understand. The place was teaming with excitement, with action, with the life that I so longed for in our sleepy little town.

"Peeta, let's go!" Rye shouted from where he stood ahead of me with Charles, his face plastered with a wide smile.

"Where are we going?" I gasped, jogging to catch up as my two brothers looped their arms around my shoulders and lead me forward.

"To get you a late birthday present, dear brother," Rye responded with a laugh. I tried to hide my hesitation, moving with them despite my heart rate picking up as they lead me down a darker laneway between tents.

As we walked further and further away from the lights, I couldn't keep ignoring the change in mood as the music from the grand show behind me slowly began to fade away. More clearly around us the tents shifted in the breeze and the sounds grew more quiet and controlled. Up ahead I could see slivers of light peeking from between different sheets of canvas while men stood smoking their pipes and rolled cigarettes around their edges.

My nerves began to fray as Rye moved me onward still, Charles dropping behind us a step or two to peek his head into passing tents. From the glances I took at the men we passed I began to understand where we were heading and without a doubt I knew it wasn't quite where I should be going.

"Um, Rye? Let's go back. I don't need to – " I started, beginning to drag my feet. I heard Charles laughing from behind me and I turned to face him head on.

"Peet, you won't regret this, promise," he assured and grabbed me up tightly by the collar. I couldn't say no to my brothers, they knew that. All I could do was follow along and try not to get involved with whatever they were scheming.

Coming upon a tent near the edge of the lane I watched as Rye exchanged money for tickets with the man at the entrance. Sticking my hands in my pocket I let Charles edge me into the tent and lead me down a middle aisle of benches that creaked when we sat. We weren't the first, nor were we the last, of men to pile into the stuffy canvas room.

My leg bounced as the crowd around us grew. Charles patted me on the back. Rye laughed excitedly and couldn't stop his eyes from scanning the room like a newborn babe.

"Welcome gentlemen!" A bronze haired man called out, bowing into the front of the tent extravagantly and moving towards a record player. "Today, my dear sons of god, we have some beautiful ladies just for you. Make note of the rules – no approaching without paying, no copping a feel you haven't bought, and remain seated until the play portion. Violating these rules or these ladies will get your balls knobbed off by the folks just outside. Now, for your viewing pleasure, please welcome to these here parts the lovely Johanna!"

I watched as a woman broke through the side of the tent and swivelled around the front. All around me men catcalled and shouted their excitement, all the while my neck burned with a hot flush of embarrassment. Rye was nearly bouncing next to me, his body thrumming while he shouted his approval.

When the next woman was introduced I nearly wanted to cover my eyes. She was beautiful but something about her seemed haunted and off. I wanted to give her a blanket and show her home safe.

But it was the last girl, so young like me, who made my cheeks burn red and my mouth dry out. Her long dark locks hung down her back and curled over her olive skin, her pink dress reaching her knees and showing a small bit of skin before her heavy boots took over her legs. I watched aptly as she stumbled in her routine, her grey eyes wide as she stared out at us.

All I wanted in that moment was to shelter her from this and what it must feel like to be ogled. The guilt creeped in then and I turned to Rye who grinned broadly at me.

"See anything you like?" He shouted as the music winded down. I shook my head but he only laughed, getting to his feet to join the line up of men who chose to pay an extra buck to further their experience with the girls.

I sat with Charles while Rye moved closer to the front, talking with the bronze haired man who frowned at him and shook his head. My eyes darted between my brother and the dark skinned girl who fidgeted nervously in her seat while she watched other men paw at the two other women. It made me nauseous to watch her knuckles go white as a man approached her.

"Peet!" Rye shouted from across the tent, tearing my gaze away just as the man blocked the girl from my view. Charles pulled me to my feet, effectively moving me forward towards where Rye was standing. "Since you seemed to like the last girl best, I got you a kiss!" He shouted eagerly and I soured. "He didn't want to sell it but I put down a pretty hefty amount so you –"

"You _what_?" I hissed, flicking my eyes towards where the girl sat on her stool looking at the ground as the previous man walked away.

"You get a kiss – only one, but that's a fair deal. Better than anything you got me!" Rye laughed and wrangled my neck with his arm as he pulled me towards the girl. Standing before her I found I couldn't even remember her name, too shell-shocked to get past the way this must feel and how uncomfortable she looked with her shoulders hunched forward and her hair hiding her face.

"Buck up, Peet," Charles spoke calmly beside me, lightly pushing my shoulder and forcing me forward. The girl looked up at me from between her lashes, her cheeks wet with tears from whatever the previous man had done. I was torn – spellbound by her but so angry at what was happening that I wanted to steal her away from here.

"Are you alright?" I whispered to her, my hands balled at my sides in barely contained anger. She nodded meekly before looking towards the bronze haired man. Catching the look shared, I watched as she turned back towards me and sat up. "I'm sorry you have to do this –" I started and she shook her head quickly.

"Don't. Just, do whatever you paid for," she hissed, staring me down.

I wanted to shake my head. To step back and leave her be. Or to carry her out of here to somewhere safe. She was beautiful. She didn't deserve this life.

"I won't get paid if you don't," she whimpered under her breath and a sound escaped my throat, one I'd never heard before but very much like the sound of being kicked in the gut. I looked at her then, her gaze meeting mine as I stepped forward and brushed my thumb along her cheekbone to remove the wet tears there.

"I won't ever hurt you," I murmured before pressing my lips to hers softly. It was chaste but still I tasted her lips and felt the burn of her skin against mine as her fingers wrapped around my wrist. Somewhere in the back of my mind a switch went off and I felt my heart rate pick up as I pulled away. We stared at one another for a second longer before Rye pulled me back with a whoop of a call.

"Little brother and his first kiss!" He shouted loudly and slapped my back affectionately. I still couldn't look away from her, nor could she look away from me it seemed. My blood thrummed and I nodded towards her, hoping she understood what I was feeling as it poured over me.

The moment was broken when I was steered out of the tent, our shared gaze finally severed as I was pulled from the tent by my brothers and lead towards the rest of the grounds. I couldn't focus on the rides or the games for the rest of the evening.

Not even after I returned the next night and paid for the show once again. I came alone this time, unhindered by my brothers. When she came out on stage for the later show that night I learned her name was Katniss – a foreign sounding name for a girl of such beauty. I watched as the men pawed her shoulder or shifted her dress higher up her thigh, all the while clenching my fists in my lap and holding myself down from pulling them away with my fury.

When I was the only man left in the tent she met my eyes and frowned, her gaze shifting between me and the bronze haired man before she was lead from the tent.

The next night I returned, paying my way into the tent and watching as Jo and Annie once again pranced into the room. But the next girl wasn't Katniss again. I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable being here and not having a purpose. I could explain the night before as having come wanting to protect her but tonight I was simply another leering man.

I didn't stay for the end of the show, slipping out the back of the tent as the last song played me down the dusty lane and back towards the sounds that had captivated me on the first night. My mind stirred with thoughts of where she was, with what had happened to her after last night. I couldn't escape them, not even as I rounded the bend and entered into the games area.

"Hey!" The shout startled me, drawing me up short. Looking around, my eyes scanned the faces of the crowd around me, recognizing almost everyone but not the voice that called me. At least not until I felt the hand on my arm turning me around to face her.

"Katniss?" I shouted over the noise, remembering her name as she stared blankly up at me. She looked surprised to be standing before me, as though she'd gotten here without thinking it through.

"I uh – I..." She stumbled over her words, looking away and shifting on her feet. When she finally remembered her hand on my arm she dropped it quickly as though burned. I missed her touch.

"I thought you worked in – " I started instead, trying to help her out. She shook her head quickly and looked at her shoes.

"No – I, no. I run a booth. But I wanna say thanks for not bein' an ass," she said quietly, the accent in her voice drawing me in.

"I'm sorry my brother paid for that," I respond lamely and shift on my feet, uncomfortable still with having done what I did.

"It's uh – " She paused in her sentence and finally looked up at me again, her head tilting to the side as a shy smile lit across her lips. "You can do it again, if you wanna."

I don't go home that night. In fact, I don't go home ever again. When the carnival wraps up and moves out, I move out with it. I earn my keep day to day working as a labourer and muscle on every stop. Some days I take over cooking duty, some days they let me sell my drawings or paintings when we set up shop.

Katniss and I fall together easily. It isn't rushed – not in the least. I come to find a home with her and her sister, and eventually her stagnant mother as well. They take me in without question and allow me to tag along as they move on the circuit. For a long while our kisses remain simple, our lips exploring as we every day learn more about each other. When we grow together in all ways, exploring the country and its people and also each other, I know that I was meant to find this carnival and it was meant to find me.


	56. Loving You Without A Word

AN: Wickedlyclever and the prompt: Katniss failing multiple times at telling Peeta how much she loves him. (Is that too vague?)

* * *

><p>"Ugh, Peeta Mellark I – " The slurred words die on my lips, my mind racing as I realize what was about to spill forth.<p>

_I love you_.

_No, I don't._ That's ridiculous. Peeta's been my friend since we waddled around in diapers. This is stupid.

"Huh?" His returning soft sigh, the brush of his breath against my hair as I tuck my head below his chin.

"I like drinking with you, friend," I finish lamely to his hiccupping laughter.

_Goddamn, that was close_.

* * *

><p>"Come on Kitten, let's get you those freezies," Peeta pipes loudly, stepping out of his rusted out truck and walking around the hood to open my door for me.<p>

This is the third time this year I've lost my voice from a cold and I'm getting real tired of my body's failing attempt at staying healthy. Thankfully, Peeta has been my proud Man Servant every time I seem to feel the prickle in the back of my throat. It's been especially helpful when I'm barely able to get around my house, let alone the town, to fulfill my cravings like the one I'm having right now.

Helping my aching bones down from the high step of his front seat he jokes, "I'm glad you kept your attire classy, Kitten." Swinging our hands playfully while we walk towards the store I side eye the hell out of him for his mockery. Sure, he can joke about my X-Men pyjamas, but I know he still owns those Pokemon boxers I bought him a few years back. If I could talk I'd remind him.

But I can't.

"We may or may not have a dilemma here." I cock my eyebrow in his direction as we swing into the frozen food aisle. Reaching the end, I turn towards the sweet confection options and scan the freezers for any sight of what I'm craving so badly. I'm so lost in my searching it takes me a moment to even notice Peeta's hand on the back of my neck, his fingers softly kneading the tight muscles there. It feels so good, so unbelievably good, that I nearly collapse in a pool of myself.

Despite my cold, despite how gross and unprepared for real life I am, I can't help but feel a burning in my gut and a heady desire coursing through me at his touch. If I could, I'd probably purr like the kitten he's so aptly nicknamed me.

_This isn't me_. _What am I thinking_?

I turn towards him quickly, knocking his hand from my neck and looking up at him as he stares down at me with his own mirrored look of surprise.

Like he was surprised he was doing it too.

"There aren't any frozen freezies," he whispers, his body mere inches from mine. I don't break eye contact, my lips forming the words that I've been stomping down since I realized that I love him.

_No, I don't. _

I clear my throat thickly, wincing at the pain it causes and seemingly breaking us from the spell his touch had put me under. Motioning my hand towards the freezer limply Peeta takes the hint and grabs out a package of Rocket popsicles holding it up to me with the wide smile I love.

"I know you like these, so your lack of words will have to confirm this is what we're getting. Let's blow this popsicle stand." He doesn't take my hand this time and I'm left following behind him slowly, my joints stiff and protesting.

By the time I reach the check out he's already bought and paid for my frozen treat, much to my annoyance. I forget it though as soon as he's helped me back in his truck and has handed me one from the box before starting up the engine and heading back towards my house.

I know something from that trip to the grocer has changed things for us. I know it as soon as Peeta rolls out of my drive way without staying to hang out and giving me a tired excuse of him having homework. Trying to brush it off, I flick the popsicle stick into the trash and crawl under my sheets to sleep away this cold.

* * *

><p>My standard common cold quickly turns a darker shade a week after Popsicle Gate. I'm not sure if it's because my Man Servant – my best friend, my confidant, my dandelion in the spring – has almost disappeared off the face of the earth or because my body has simply given up, but either way it's nearly three in the morning when Mother takes me to the emergency room for my strikingly high fever.<p>

I hadn't even noticed, not really, as my dreams echoed into vivid realities and I started to have difficultly defining the bleary lines of reality and my hallucinations.

Registered, admitted, laying in an uncomfortable hospital bed on the seventh floor, I swooped in and out of clarity, vaguely catching the doctor mentioning that my fever was making me lack lucidity and that I seemed to be suffering from a wild case of pneumonia.

Wild like those Rattata's that I could never beat in Pokemon that just came out of the field from nowhere! Like the dandelion's in the meadow.

"Where's Peeta?" I'm sure I said it multiple times, though maybe it only passed my lips in a thick whisper that was barely audible against the background hum of the hospital. Mother didn't seem to hear me, too busy staring out the window at the night sky.

Sleep caught me unaware, my body slipping down into the hot bindings of drugs and feverish dreams. I know for a while there I must have been thrashing, I remember my mother telling me to settle as she wiped a cloth against my forehead.

"What?" I gasped as the reality of it all came floating back in. My arms jerked heavily, my wrists caught in the restraints that I didn't remember being part of the deal. "Mum?" I hissed. Breathing was hard and it felt like there was an elephant on my chest. I wasn't sure whether it was the panic or the pneumonia but I wanted it to stop.

When no reply came I jerked again on the restraints, my eyes finally adjusting to the darkness and my words crackling across the room. In the corner something rustled and I panicked, dreams and nightmares crashing back through my mind as possibilities at the cause of the sound.

"Mum!" I cried out again despite the burn in my throat.

"Shh," a smooth voice hushed me, a warm hand coming to rest on my forehead before guiding me back down. "It's okay, let me undo these," Peeta whispered in the dark of the room. His hands made quick work of the restraints as he explained that I was pulling out my IV's while the fever was making me hallucinate. "Your mom went home to look after Prim," he finishes as he pulls his chair to the side of the bed. He doesn't even hesitate to take my hand in his warm palms.

"What day is it?" I croak. I'm so confused. How long have I been here? What is he doing here?

"Hey, don't talk Kitten. You're real sick but they say you're getting better. It's pneumonia, a pretty bad version. It's been two days that we've been here and –"

"Two?" I break in, my eyes going wide. It didn't seem like _two_.

"Yep. Your mom brought you in at night and they've kept you here on antibiotics and other medical things that I have no purpose telling you about. I'm glad you're back awake though, you had me scared," he admits lowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

It doesn't make sense. I haven't seen him since the weirdness in the grocer. Why is he even _here_?

"You? Long?" I prompt weakly. He grins widely and brushes the flyaway hairs back from my face.

"Forever."

_What_?

Laughing at the confused expression on my face he squeezes my hand and brings it up towards his chin until it's tucked against his neck.

"I'm sorry I've been AWOL." There's a pause as he adjusts in his seat and looks away nervously. "Do you remember what you said in the grocer?" I stare at him blankly. I didn't say anything. I couldn't _talk_.

"No?"

"Well, okay. That's honest because you didn't have a voice. But your mouth. Do you remember what you were thinking?"

My mind flies as I try to remember.

And then I do.

"_I love you_." It comes out like a dying cat, oddly befitting for me at this very moment. My cheeks burn as I look away and take my hand back from in between his so I can cover my face.

"I love you too," he states carefully, slowly so that I can process it from behind my hand. "I have for forever."

I don't even have to struggle to put together sentences as he pries my hand away and looks into my eyes without any joke or any fear or any hesitation.

"I love you, it just took me pneumonia to say it out loud."

_I love you. _It's not ridiculous. It's not stupid.

It's true.


	57. Bump

Prompts:

keeta-everlark said: Not sure you wrote anything for this, but a companion piece to "Road Flares" where Katniss is driving and Peeta reciprocates (unless driving off the road was the story and that's fine too :) ).

scoutchick104 said: Katniss and Peeta visit the circus and Katniss is afraid of the clowns.

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><p>"Dammit!" I yelp, jumping behind Peeta's solid frame as another clown comes bustling down the pathway. I have to tuck my forehead between his shoulder blades less I spot another sighting of the brightly coloured demons from hell.<p>

I fucking _hate_ clowns. Hate hate hate hate.

I don't even know how Peeta got me near them, let alone to this carnival that is sketchy as hell.

"What's up, buttercup?" Peeta chimes. I can feel his laughter rumbling through his chest.

Just when I think it's safe to poke my head out from its place against his back I see _it_. Not _IT_, but _it_, the horrible purple and yellow clown that's amusing a group of teenagers right beside us, encroaching on my ten metre no-clown zone radius.

I do what I think is the only thing I can do.

I scream.

High pitched and everything.

Peeta spins towards me, concern all over his face as I slap my hand across my mouth while he grabs at my shoulders. "Are you okay?"

I nod briskly, closing my eyes and turning away from the sight.

I. Am. Pathetic.

"Are you seriously afraid of that clown?" He jokes behind me. Now the laughter isn't quite silent.

"Yes. Don't mock me. I watched that clown movie when I was little. Clowns and sewer grates. We don't get along. Can we please just _go_?" I plead emphatically. A large guffaw of laughter comes spilling out from his chest as his arms wrap tightly around me. I don't even get a chance to slap him for his teasing before he's lifted me onto his shoulder like a bag of flour and is toting me away from the clown.

"My fair damsel in distress!" Crowing wildly, he carries me through the crowds of people and noise and lights and games throughout the park. When he finally puts me down, I peek my eyes open and scan around for any more of the rainbow demon beings.

None. I'm good.

Brushing my hands down my shirt I put on my best mask and look around at where we stand.

"Bumper cars?" I ask, cocking my eyebrow. He grins wickedly at me and grabs my hand before leading us towards the line.

"It'll be fun. You can even drive," he explains as we wait, his warm breath crossing my neck and making my hairs rise on end. I have to squeeze my thighs together to appease the pulsing that his nearness creates in me.

When the bell tolls signally the change in session, Peeta pulls my hand over until we're settling into the blue car furthest away from all the others. I pout openly, chastising him for choosing the farthest car while he only snickers and clicks our seatbelts on.

"Driver's ready?" Calls out from the speakers above. A loud buzzer squeals and the smell of electricity fills the air as the bumper cars begin to whizz around the circle without a care.

I take off immediately, focusing in on a green car just ahead of us that a twenty-something man is driving far too slowly for a bumper car rally. I'm so entrenched in my goal that when I finally bump the rear of his car it takes me a moment to notice that Peeta's hand is somewhere it most definitely _should not_ be in public.

"Peeta!" I screech as my foot comes off the gas and I swing around to him. His broad smile stretches wider before we're bumped hard from behind but a freckle faced teen.

"Just keep driving, Kitten. Like that time you had me, with the cops?" Pressing his foot on the gas, Peeta moves my hands back to the wheel just as another kid bumps us from behind. I don't know whether it's the constant bumping of other drivers or the excitement of Peeta's hand slipping across my thigh but my whole body is on fire.

"That was a good night," I state. I'm determined to ride this out – too turned on not to – so I slide down lower in the seat and spread my legs a little wider. Peeta laughs beside me and I take off quickly, my foot pressing hard on the gas as his fingers push against my clit through my jeans.

"Consider this a warm up for later."

_Fuck_.

It becomes a game. Every time I clash with another car Peeta's hands press a little firmer, their motion changes a just a little more, and I grow undeniably wetter.

"Hit the yellow guy and I'll go down on you behind the ghost house," Peeta hisses in my ear, his one hand squeezing my hip while his other holds itself tightly against my center.

"Oh god." Biting my lip my hips jerk up of their own accord, seeking the pressure of his fingers and the inevitable release that I'm catapulting towards.

I'm almost there, the yellow car buzzing right before me. I turn hard, cutting them off and ramming the side just as the buzzer rings out and my body clenches.

I was so fucking close.

"Fuck," I groan, my legs shaky as we stand from the car and Peeta leads me towards the exit excitedly. The game operator grins leeringly at us and I can't help but make a face towards Peeta who shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it. We have somewhere to be so you can have your reward."


	58. Through and Through

Prompt: atthecolorshow replied to your post: _ I would very much like some writing prompts, if… _

Hmmm…. how about Katniss and Peeta both growing up merchants or both growing up in the Seam? :)

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><p>I limp home after my third shift at the mines; my left leg throbbing like it does after too many hours standing. It never used to bother me this much, not when I was in school, but I know that I'm no longer able to sit and listen to the teacher tell us about the depths of the mines or the black of the coal.<p>

Not anymore. Now I have to endure it.

I just turned eighteen not too many weeks ago. I didn't even get to finish up school before my mother was ripping the thinning blankets from my sleeping form and telling me it was time to go to work. I couldn't talk back to her – nobody talked back to my mother or you got her beat up rolling pin jammed into your ribs.

Instead I went down to the mines and enlisted in work, saying goodbye to the last vestiges of my childhood as I began to mentally commit to a life underground.

I'd always known it would be like this for me. A bastard child of a long-gone Peacekeeper, the dirty blonde hair of a district import mixed with the ash black of a Seam mother. Every page of my life had turned over in the same predictable mess as the lives before mine. My first bruises weren't from playing sports like any of the Merchant class – like so many others in the Seam they were from the hands of my mother. That's just how it was.

I'd taken the job in the mines to help support my mother because nothing else paid quiet as well for a hobbled kid like me. The day my mother broke my leg by pushing me down the stairs was the day she signed our lease on living at the bottom of the Seam class. It figures that that was also the day her screams picked up an octave and her white liquor consumption nearly doubled.

It was so predictable. But it was life here in the Seam and you didn't just try to leave the life you were stuck with. Besides, if I ever did try to leave where would I even go? I had no hope in hell getting out of the district, no fair minded Merchant family would hire me in, and I could be damn sure that none of the girls around here wanted anything to do with someone like me.

So here I was, staggering back home in the rain after a miserable day underground where I could already tell my body would quickly tire and begin to fall apart.

It was depressing. It was hopeless.

"Peeta!"

I shuddered at the screech that greeted me as I stepped onto our cracking porch. I'd hoped maybe there would be the slim chance that mother wouldn't be home. Perhaps maybe she'd be at the Hob trying to negotiate Ripper down from another liquor price that she would end up paying for with my wages anyways. No such luck – she was here and apparently already in a bad mood.

"Get in here you little shit!" Her scream reverberated in my ears forcing my body to instinctively prepare for the worst as I stepped over the threshold. It wasn't that bad, I couldn't help but think, as her knuckles cracked against my chin. I'd had much worse and the liquor had apparently softened her blow. She'd pass out early, that I knew. "Where is the bread you were supposed to bring home?"

I stood at the door to the house, staring down at her as my palm smoothed over the inflamed skin of my jaw. I'd known I was supposed to do something but this morning when she'd yelled at me as I'd left before dawn I hadn't really been able to comprehend the slurring words she'd tried to pass off as a request.

In all reality, I had no excuse.

"How can I rely on your worthless self to do _anything_ right? How do I marry off someone who can't even _remember_ any goddamn thing? You're useless!" Her echoing screams fill the house, bouncing off the barren walls and pushing in on me until I feel as small as a snail. I'd never sought my mother's affection – not since her fists became more common than her hugs – but it didn't help that every time she spoke she couldn't help but berate me into submission.

"Yes, mother, I'll go get it now," I hiss out, taking her push between my shoulder blades without a word before moving back out the door.

The last thing I wanted to do right now with my aching leg was continue on walking in the rain and the mud to the bakery that was on the border of the Seam and the Merchant line of the district. I did it anyways though – mother's wrath was far more worth avoiding than a sleepless night with a sore leg.

I was nearly halfway back after negotiating for the stale remnants before closing when I saw the flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. At first I didn't give it pause – I was so used to seeing stray animals roaming the streets that it didn't even phase me. That is, until the small animal became a girl, maybe a few years younger than me with thick black hair and bones that nearly poked out of her skin they were so sharp.

The moment my step faltered she froze like a caught deer, her grey eyes wide as the water pounded down on her thick plait of hair. She was thin – unbearably so – and she looked to be struggling to carry a few pieces of fabric that were hanging limply from her arms. My stomach ached for her as I realized she must be starving to death.

In that moment the bread in its bag in my hands felt too heavy for me to possibly carry. We stared at each other in the murky light, neither one of us moving as though we were caught in a spell.

I couldn't _not_ help her. There was something more here – something I had to save even though I couldn't tell what. Reaching in the bag without another thought I broke the half-stale bread into two and held half of it out to her.

"Take it," I called out into the rain, thrusting it towards her as the water seemed to come down in a thicker rush. My uncut bangs were beginning to cover my eyes, the thick blonde likely visible despite the wet sheen.

Through the wall of water I could just barely make out seeing her shake her head no in my direction. My gaze hardened, determined to make sure she took what I was giving her.

She _needed_ to live. I couldn't bare the alternative.

"Take it!" I demanded, stepping towards her. I watched as her arms tightened around the bundle of clothes and she stumbled back, dropping a few pieces before looking at them forlornly.

In two steps I was before her, grabbing up the thin wool fabric she'd dropped and placing it back in her arms. I didn't hesitate to tuck the bread under one of the pieces, securing it to her chest and stepping back from her nearness. My body buzzed from the close contact, a foreign feeling lingering in my blood.

"Please," I whispered and I knew it was barely audible through the sound of the rain hitting the ground.

She scowled then, her brows tightening together and her arms clenching. I knew then that if I stuck around she'd find a way to not take the bread and then I would have run out of options. Instead I turned high tail and left. I didn't even stop to turn around when her shout followed me, her words about Merchant whore buying haunting me all the way home.


	59. Maybe Next Week

_txdora prompted: "If you are still taking prompts, how about Peeta asking his brothers for advice on how to get Katniss to notice him so he can ask her out…and getting two very different answers."_

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><p>"Excuse me?"<p>

I freeze at his tone, my shoulders at my ears and my hands clenched tightly around the dough I've been kneading. I hadn't meant to say it – it just slipped. But Bannick _heard_.

_Crap_.

"Peet, did you just say that you wanted to ask Katniss Everdeen _out_?" His voice was appalled, that certain tone that almost borders on mother's tone when she's too angry to even bother coming at you with her fists. He never means bad by it, it's just scary is all. "Do you know what mother would do?"

There it is, the true fact of why I was terrified to even say anything. If my brothers knew, if _mother_ knew, I'd be dead.

_Crap_.

"Just forget I said anything," I mumble in repose, begging him to leave it alone.

"No, oh no no no. No." Bannick stops what he's doing at the prep table and comes over to me, pulling up a chair and sitting before me carefully. "If you're thinking about doing this, you need to do it right. So mother doesn't know. You hear?"

I look at him wide eyed, glancing towards the staircase where I know she's upstairs still in bed.

"Nick..." Reminding him warningly.

"Peet," he counters and points at me in a way that reminds me so much of father. "You need to do it quietly. So word doesn't spread. Maybe start with eating lunch outside on your own, at the school so you can pretend to be studying. Then ask her to join you. It's not romantic but it's logical – " I frown at his words. Logic and Nick – always one and the same. "Or you're still young. Start speaking in up in class. Girls like smart guys." He waggles his eyebrows at this and I hold in my scoff.

Nick has always been my awkward oldest brother, caught between my mother and my father and favoured by both. He's smart, maybe too smart for his own good, and he doesn't always realize that he's missing what people actually want from him. Sometimes I think he pleases people too much, but he must get that from the way he has to react with my mother.

I groan inwardly. Despite the lame options Nick is giving me, he's right. I can't just _ask_. Mother would lose it and I'd likely end up in pieces. Especially when it's someone from the Seam.

"Thanks Nick," I mumble quietly as he continues spouting about public meet up places like the school library and the Justice Building. I want to shake my head at him, tell him that none of his ideas sound like something Katniss Everdeen would ever want to do, but I don't.

I don't because in a way, this is the first time that Nick and I have ever really talked about something _real_.

:::

"So Nick told me," Rye shouts, his bike moving around the gravel pot holes easily as we make our Sunday deliveries. I want to slam on the breaks, to stop and look at him and whatever he's about to say, but I don't. Instead I try to maintain a look of indifference and ignore the hot flush running up my neck.

"Uh, um... What did he say?" I reply back nervously, pedalling to keep up.

"That you wanna hook up with the Everdeen girl."

I stop my bike, my feet falling off the pedals and hitting the ground with a thump. Rye only laughs, dropping his own bike and running the last delivery of the day up to the doorstep and leaving it in the bread box.

"Hey, no need to be shy little brother," he quips and grabs up his bike. "Come with me. You've got a world to see."

Hesitantly, I follow him as he takes off down the road, heading into the seedy part of town somewhere near where the Hob is supposedly rumoured to be. All the while I ride I hope that Katniss doesn't see me, I hope that nobody else sees me on this goose chase that my brother has taken me on.

"Here!" He pulls up short, dropping his bike again and swooping his arms out to the area around us. It's the slag heap from the mine's, a dumping ground that isn't much of anything.

"What?" I scoff, turning towards him and shaking my head. "Are you crazy, Rye? This is a trash dump."

He merely laughs and shakes his head before stepping over to me. Throwing his arm over my shoulder he turns us around in a circle.

"Baby brother, this is _the_ Slag Heap. If you want to get with the Everdeen girl, you need to bring her here. She's Seam, she'll appreciate it!"

He barely has time to finish his sentence before my brain is filling in the rest of the holes and the fury is bubbling out of me in the form of my fists flying in his direction. _The_ Slag Heap. The one I've only heard rumours of in my lower grade. The place where people come to _hook up_.

"She is not – " I pant, wrestling him to the ground while he struggles against me. "One of _those girls_." I grunt every word, my hands holding his shoulders to the ground while he fights to gain the upper hand. My catching him unaware has seemingly surprised him and made him easier to subdue.

But it only lasts for a moment.

Using his skills in wrestling he flips us over and pins me to the ground. Breathing heavily, he smiles cockily and shakes his head.

"Peet, you'll get some if you bring her here. If you want something else though, just grow some balls and _ask her out_. Don't worry about mother. Not if it's important," he grunts one final time and moves off of me, brushing the dirt and coal dust from his clothes before stepping back to his bike.

His last words seem to echo in my head, taunting me.

Just do it.

Just ask her.

Maybe tomorrow I _will_.

Or maybe next week.


	60. Whatever You Wanted

_kimberlymaa prompted: Peeta makes fun of pregnant katniss for eating all the cheese buns. I know this has totally been done before, but I can't get enough of it._

* * *

><p>"Peeta!" I shout, laughter threatening to knock the delicate piece of art from my body.<p>

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm lying sprawled on my back, naked, on our living room floor while my sadistic husband plays stack-it with my favourite food on my uncomfortably pregnant belly.

Secretly, I may or may not want them to fall so I can at least eat one.

"You promised!" He shouts back, his bright eyes catching mine as he lifts another cheese bun to the top of the stack. I don't know how he's done it but the things are almost a foot high now, unreasonably high considering how precarious they should be.

"I promised to let you do whatever you wanted if you managed to get me off while I feel as big as this house! Not to become your bakery tabletop!" And I had. I'd practically begged him while he was on his knees before me, mouthing at my center as my legs clutched around his head. I'd wanted to come so badly I'd pleaded with him to help me finish.

"This is what I want to do with you. Is it so bad to see my favourite thing with my wife?"

Mouth dropping open, I turn and smack at him lightly as he laughs so hard his body quakes against mine.

"Excuse you, but maybe we need to give Effie a call to teach you a lesson in – Hey!" In between guffaws of laughter his hand moves just a touch in my peripheral vision to see it collide with the cheese buns.

The cheese buns that _don't_ fall over.

He's _cheating_.

"Peeta!" I yell and shoot up off the floor, eyes wide as the buns topple off in a solid column. Still stuck together. "What is _this_?" I don't know whether to laugh or cry as I watch him curl into himself in fits of laughter, the glue falling from his palm as his hands go to cover his exposed loins. "You were _gluing them_? You cheater!"

Getting to my feet awkwardly I grab at the bowl of freshly baked buns, picking up the column of ruined glued ones and smacking his ass with them.

They don't even _move_.

"Look at these! They're ruined!" I snap. He doesn't even care. Damn him.

Taking the bowl with me, I grab up my clothes that have been haphazardly thrown around the room in our rush and steer myself into the bedroom before kicking the door closed. Across the house I hear him shout his apology, echoes of laughter still ringing out.

"You better not be as wasteful as him," I murmur softly, my lips closing around the sweet cheese bun while my hand ghosts over my belly. "I'll still love you if you are though, always."


	61. The Window

_AN: A little drabble outtake from Lover's Eyes._

* * *

><p>"What do you mean she went to the hospital? Peeta? What are you not telling me?" Prim shouts into the phone, her voice muffled across the line. I sigh on the other end, my wits fleeting.<p>

"It's hard Prim, she doesn't - I mean, she keeps saying things."

I don't know how to put it into words. Our friends, my family, the regulars at work are even asking what's going on. They can see it on me, like a black cloud that's following me around.

I feel ashamed. Not because of the cloud. Not because of Katniss.

I'm ashamed that they can see it through me, like I'm struggling to hold open a window that's shining light onto her most private suffering, the depression fighting to close out the light. They can see me at war, they can see her in the darkness.

"Peeta, talk to me or I'm coming over there," Prim's voice calls me back and I rub a hand down my face as I sit heavily on our couch.

"She's resting now, the doctors gave her something to settle her down and let her rest. Diaz or aza something or whatever. Look, I'm just calling to tell you - "

"They gave her Valium? I'm coming over."

I want to throw the phone across the room. I want to let the window slam shut and close out the world, to hold Katniss until she can make her own light again. I want her to be able to know the privacy she wants while she figures things out.

I can do that for her.

"No. You're not." I murmur into the phone, my voice surprisingly low. There's a long pause on the other end of the line, an uncomfortable feeling almost tangible between us.

"You shouldn't have to do this alone," Prim whispers in return. I can hear the hesitation and the fear in her voice, the tentative way she broaches it as though she can tell I'm just barely hanging on.

I am just barely hanging on.

"She doesn't even want to see me right now." My voice breaks as I admit it aloud, the moment from the hospital coming back to me in a swirl of angry unshed tears.

"Well, I do. So I'll see you in a bit."

The line clicks dead and I exhale the breath I've been holding in a hiss. Resting my face in my hands I mentally force open the window again.

Katniss will have some light even if the darkness has to break me first.


End file.
